


Land of the free, Home of the Brave

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Please be warned, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Unsuccessful one, modern war au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean is a marine, Cas is navy, Sam is Air Force, and Gabriel is army. The four men happened to be stationed near each other.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Land of the free, Home of the Brave

Dean is a marine, Cas is navy, Sam is Air Force, and Gabriel is army. The four men happened to be stationed near each other.  
  
—-  
  
  
  
With the midday sun beating down on them after five long hours of patrol and the temperature well over 100 in the shade, the troop forced themselves over the rough, barren terrain and into the streets and alleys of the small town. Most of the people had fled north to the mountains when the firefight had started; the white hats had arrived ahead of enemy forces and could now set up an ambush to stop them from steamrolling up yet another settlement, this time much deeper into neutral territory than their other strongholds. The small team of eight men, each decked out in desert camo and toting an M4A1 among other weapons, swept up and down each road in pairs. They ducked in and out of dark stores and abandoned homes, most missing window glass and doors thanks to fighting, or rioting, or looting.  
  
  
MCPO Lafitte almost trudged right past an unassuming looking hole in the wall of an abandoned living space when he heard the faintest sounds of a child crying. He stopped, weapon raised, and cautiously moved toward it, surveying for traps. His partner hung back a yard or so and watched the entrance, still covering the MCPO. Lafitte reached out to pull a curtain away from a wall and nearly had a heart attack when several women and their young kids screamed behind it. An old man cowered from the gun; a much younger man held a baby in his arms and cried.  
  
“Jesus fuck,” Lafitte cursed under his breath. “Any of y’all got a gun? Speak English?” He remained wary, checked their faces and surroundings for signs of imminent attack. Just a bunch of scared civilians begging him to spare them, or leave, he couldn’t quite make it out. He held up his hands to show he didn’t intend to harm them and reached for his radio.  
  
“I need Novak about 30 meters west of town center. Got a family in a little shithole ‘round back thinking I’m gonna blow them up. Over.”  
  
It took a few minutes for the sub lieutenant to appear. He was shorter than Lafitte, more compact, looked like a baby with his huge blue eyes, but Benny had watched him take out a man clean at fifty yards in the midst of battle without a drop of sweat. Novak spent some time conversing with the family and waved Lafitte and his partner over.  
  
“They’re the shopkeeper and his family,” he answered with his gruff voice tinged with annoyance. “They stayed behind to protest their home. You scared them.”  
  
“We fucking scared -“ Benny’s partner huffed a laugh. Novak glared at him and turned to say something else to the family. They crawled out of their hiding spot; the father stopped to nod to the sub lieutenant, tears streaming down his face.  
  
“We’ll escort them to base and have the trauma team examine them,” Novak ordered. Lafitte blew out a frustrated breath.  
  
“Anything you say, Chief,” he grunted.  
  
  
The three of them and the family left the company to finish sweeping the town along with reinforcements that arrived via helicopter to take them back to base, the surrounding areas having been successfully checked for combatants, missiles and other threats. Novak handed the family off to the med team himself while Lafitte and his partner stripped their weapons and uniforms and made a beeline as fast as they could for the mess tent. Novak wasn’t so lucky.  
  
“Sub lieutenant, may I have a word?” his pompous dick of a superior, Adler, called and waved him over. Novak groaned to himself and made his way over, still with his helmet on.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Take that off . . . good work out there, sorry we couldn’t just do a quick drop in and pick up.”  
  
“I understand, sir. It’s good for the men to get used to the conditions anyway, they’ll be here a while.” He tried not to keep his tone even, not war worn and tired like he felt.  
  
“They might but you’re not.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
  
  
“The Jarheads need a hand down by the gulf. None of them can do any goddamn translations so I how to give up one of my best men for . . . who the hell knows how long.”  
  
Novak’s dark eyebrows shot up.  
  
“Oh . . . kay.”  
  
“Congrats, Cas. You got early shore leave. Enjoy it while you can.” Adler beamed, revealing his teeth, and slapped him hard on the back. Novak coughed a bit to hide his surprise.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Go hand your stuff in, grab your kit and get back on that bird, she’ll take you out.”  
  
“N-now?”  
  
“They wanted you there hours ago but I told them you were in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Adler rolled his eyes. Novak nodded. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Yeah yeah. Do what you need and get back here.”  
  
“Yes.” Novak saluted Adler, as much as he didn’t like him, and went to gather his things as quickly as possible.  
  
—-

  
Dean Winchester hid in the trench, hiding from the enemy. Bullets flying everywhere. He had to take out Alastair. He was the one they were after. He had captured Dean and tortured him, and now he wanted payback.  
  
“This is for torturing me, you son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as he aimed to take the shot. He didn’t know that someone was in the trench with him. He had been so focused on Alastair that he hadn’t been watching out for himself.  
  
  
“Say hello to my little friend, Alastair.” Dean mumbled to himself as he prepares to take the shot.  
  
  
A shot rang out and a bullet dug through the layers of Dean’s protective gear into his shoulder. While he was startled, the brunette moved in from the shadows and put the hot muzzle of her handgun right to the base of his skull.  
  
“Hello, asshole,” Meg laughed with a grin, even as she stood almost an entire foot shorter than him.  
  
Dean groaned in pain. “Son of a bitch!” And then he felt the muzzle of her gun at the back of his head. He froze, swallowing hard.  
  
“Meg.”  
  
“Asshole,” she repeated coldly. “I’d blow your brain out through your nose just because, never mind that you killed three of my men escaping, but you still got things the boss wants. Get moving.”  
  
  
Dean stood up, slowly, holding his shoulder. Good god that hurts like hell! How did the bullet go through his vest?  
  
“I’m not going back to your boss, Bitch.” He took a deep breath.  
  
“You still have my brother. I’m going to kill you for that.”  
  
  
“Can’t rescue Sammy - can’t kill me - if you’re dead, fuckface.” She dug the muzzle right into his skin. “Move or die, your choice.”  
  
“Only I get to call him that.” He muttered as he started walking. He needed a medic. He wanted his brother back. He did this to get Sammy back. He knew Bobby wouldn’t let him but he went out anyway. He had to get Sammy back.  
  
  
She marched him back to the compound and gave him a heavy boot to the back of the knee to force him to the ground. Once at waist height, she dug her gun into his bullet wound and waved Alistair over.  
  
“Rambo here wanted to be a hero,” she reported. “Can I shoot him in the head already?”  
  
  
Dean gritted his teeth as she dug her gun into his wound and that was after he was forced to the ground.  
  
“Stupid BITCH.” He growled, elbowing her in the stomach.  
  
She doubled over and fell with an angry shout of pain. The men with Alistair cocked their guns and pointed them at him. Alistair walked over slowly, took hold of his chin to examine whether his facial wounds were healing, and smiled a bit.  
  
“Nice to see you again, Dean. Sammy missed you while you were gone. Too bad he didn’t want to talk either.” He let Dean’s face go and rammed the butt of his gun right between Dean’s eyes, into the bridge of his nose, knocking him out cold.  
  
Dean fell onto his back, slumped over like a limp sack of potatoes.  
  
“Piece of shit,” Meg grunted as she got to her feet and went to kick him.  
  
“Leave him alone,” Alistair commanded. She glared. “You can put one in both their foreheads once he tells me what I want to know.” Meg huffed and walked off, leaving Dean to be carted back to a holding cell and triple bound this time.  
  
Dean’s forehead was bleeding slightly, and his nose was broken, not to mention the bullet in his shoulder.  
  
  
“Get the medic and fix this shit,” Alistair snarled to one of the guards. “What about the other one?”  
  
Dean’s hand twitched slightly, but other then that, he didn’t move.  
  
“He’s in the holding cell where we left him. He was waiting for his brother to come back with help it seems. Looks like that didn’t work out.” And the guard called for a medic.  
  
“Get him fixed up. We need him alert for questioning.”  
  
  
Dean would start to wake up soon, and they were going to have to do something. He kept seeing blue eyes in his dream. Blue eyes, raven black hair. It was a man he was seeing, That’s what he knew. He moved around in his forced sleep, it was painful. He wouldn’t tell them anything. He’d refuse to speak. He opened his eyes, blinking, and then shutting them as the light blinded him.  
  
“Son of a bitch.” Were the first words out of his mouth. He was in a bed, and when he went to move his hands, he heard clanking, and heard them down at his feet too. They really think they thought of everything don’t they? Do they know who they are dealing with? Apparently not.  
  
“Dean . . .” a ragged voice whimpered from down the hall, weak and pained and wet.  
  
“S-Sammy? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”  
  
“Dean . . . we have to . . . go home . . .” he croaked. A harsh cough bounced off the walls and he groaned. “Where . . . have to go . . . home. Where are you?”  
  
“I’m in some kind of hospital room. Where are you?”  
  
  
“Home . . .” Sam grunted.  
  
  
  
“Home...? What...what do you mean home? How can you be home...I can hear you close to me. Where are you Sam?”  
  
  
  
“He’s out of his mind on painkillers,” the medic reported as she entered Dean’s room with a metal cart of supplies. “Alistair doesn’t know when to stop sometimes.”  
  
“SAMMY WHERE ARE YOU. HOW ARE YOU HOME IF I CAN HEAR YOU? SAM!” Dean shouted, pulling on his restraints.  
  
The medic clamped a hand over his mouth.  
  
“Shut the hell up! I had to dose him so he wouldn’t talk. He’s been blabbering like an idiot since you left. Good job getting caught again by the way.”  
  
Dean bit her hand since it was the only thing he could do. “Don’t touch me.” He growled.  
  
She hissed and ripped her hand away, grabbing a syringe of the cart.  
  
“Do you want to be numb while I dig the bullet out, or should I just let you scream? You want to get out of here with Sam? Shut the hell up and listen to me.”  
  
Dean eyes the needle, but he says nothing. He doesn’t trust her. He’s not going to trust her.  
  
She huffed. “Fine. I gave you the option. I can help you and your brother, that’s your choice too. But I can see you’re having a bad day so I’m going to leave you like this for a while.”  
  
Dean still says nothing. He winces every time he moves.  
  
  
She pushed the cart out of the room without another word.  
  
“Where’s . . . Dean,” Sam grunted a few moments later.  
  
“He came back just to see you,” the medic told him sweetly.  
  
“I wanna . . . see him, Ruby.”  
  
“Both of you need to sleep right now. Conserve your strength.”  
  
Dean passes out from the pain. He was going to die. He knew he was, but he kept dreaming of the blue eyed man. He wondered if that meant something.  
  
—-

  
“What the hell do you mean, ‘he’s gone’? Where is Cpl. Winchester?” Jo roared at the cowering Private in front of her. The drone of the arriving helicopter drowned out his reply.  
  
“Fuck!” she screamed over it.  
  
“Harvelle!” the Staff Sergeant yelled.  
  
“Where is that boy? Did he go after his brother? I told that Idjit to stay here, but does he listen? No. Someone go find the last place he went. Report back to me.”  
  
“Sir,” she nodded. The helicopter rotors stopped spinning and a dark haired man in a dark working Navy uniform stepped out with a large duffel over his shoulder.  
  
“Sergeant Singer?” he called. “Lieutenant Novak. I was sent to assist you?”  
  
“Oh. Good. You are here. You can help me find the corporal. Think you can do that Son?” Bobby said, handing him a picture.  
  
He blinked at the handsome man in his dress blacks and white cap, his jaw sharply chiseled, green eyes staring back at him defiantly. But looking closer, he thought he saw a hint of humour, or mischief. He tried not to redden.  
  
“Is he AWOL, or was he taken?”  
  
“He went off on his own, but he still could have been taken. He had escaped from Alastair. They had his brother. I’m thinking he wanted to get revenge.”  
  
—-  
  
Dean heard the door open. Someone came in.  
  
Dean kept his eyes closed. All he heard was the door open. He didn’t realize that his bed was Hooked up to a electrical machine and that Alastair could press a button and shock him.  
  
“How are you this morning, Dean?” Alistair sneered at him from closeby.  
  
  
“Fuck you Alastair.”  
  
“Americans and their eloquence,” he grunted. “I’m going to be blunt. Do you remember our talks? The patience I had then has long since worn out.” He fiddled with something in his pocket. “Tell me what I want and I’ll let Sam go.”  
  
  
  
“I’m not telling you anything. Sam has nothing to do with this. Just let Sam go. You don’t need him here. Sam has nothing to do with our “talks.” Just let him go. And he better be alive. Or else you’ll have to force it out of me.”  
  
“Funny you should mention that. Do you need that sort of incentive?”  
  
  
“I’m not telling you anything. If you hurt Sam, you can forget me telling you a damn thing.”  
  
  
Alistair sucked his teeth and pulled out a small grey keychain from his coat.  
  
“Tell me or I’ll kill him in front of you. He’s completely sedated, he wouldn’t feel a thing, I promise.”  
  
  
“Don’t you dare touch him. Don’t touch my brother. I’m not going to betray my country. Just leave Sam out of this.”  
  
“Then we seem to be at an impasse. It’s unfortunate that you have to be so stubborn.” Alistair depressed the button in his hand and the bed crackled below Dean, sending hundreds of volts of electricity directly into his body.  
  
  
Dean grits his teeth, holding back a scream. His body convulsed and twitched. It looked like he was having a seizure.  
  
“Tell me what I want and you both go free, no strings. Keep resisting and I’ll slit your brother’s throat where I’m standing right now. What’s more important, Dean?”  
  
  
  
Dean twitched, still recovering from the shocks.  
  
“I...don’t...believe...you...prove you’ll let us go. Also...go to hell.”  
  
“I’m a man of my word. You know this well.” He went to press the button again when the faint sound of automatic gunfire drew his attention away.  
  
“Go to hell Alastair. I know you won’t let us get out of here alive.”  
  
“I suppose you’re about to find out.” He scowled as he drew his firearm and moved through the door and into the hallway when a blast rang out, blowing him off his feet to skid across the floor.  
  
“Get on your knees, fucker!” shouted someone with a higher voice than the others.  
  
“He’s got a gun!” called someone else before they exchanged fire back and forth until there was a wet thud. The noise must have jolted Sam awake because he screamed in terror down the hall.  
  
“A team, come with me to sweep the rooms. B team, check the corpse,” a raspy voice commanded as boots began to hit the floor hard.  
  
Dean heard his brother scream. “SAM!”  
  
“Dean!” Jo cried, rushing in and whipping off her face mask and goggles to keep from frightening him. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw the blood leaking from his shoulder and the straps binding him to the bed.  
  
The pain was too much. “I had to save him Jo...” and then he passes out again, mostly because of the electricity.  
  
“Dean!” she called at him, wanting nothing more to hug him but avoiding touching him in case he was further hurt.  
  
“Harvelle, follow my orders!” the raspier voice barked. She hesitated, looked back at the door and moved into the corridor while the voice’s owner stood guard, weapon raised.  
  
“Lieutenant, we have two live captives and one stiff! Proceed with extraction?” one of the squad members called. Jo said a few soothing, unintelligible things to Sam and he muttered something back.  
  
“Is he hurt?” the Lieutenant asked, turning to Dean once he was certain they weren’t about to be ambushed from the other rooms.  
  
“Sammy...” Dean mumbled in his sleep.  
  
“Corporal Winchester?” the Lieutenant asked gingerly, turning his head to see him clearly. He was obviously far more battered now than in his official picture, had a few days’ worth of stubble across his cheeks and winced in pain even in unconsciousness. “Can you hear me? Grunt if you can, don’t worry about being coherent.”  
  
Dean grunted and then he coughs.  
  
“Good,” he sighed in relief.  
  
“Lieutenant Novak,” Jo addressed him as she walked back into the room. “No one else is present, sir. We’re calling the transfer team. We might drag that asshole Alistair back to base by the feet though. Through horse shit.”  
  
“Thank you, Private.” Novak nodded. “Are you proficient with electrical? We have to get the Corporal disconnected from whatever these wires are, then we’ll just wheel him out.”  
  
“I’ll get someone.” She hurried out again, leaving Dean and the Lieutenant alone as the rest of the squad worked to move Sam and Alistair’s body.  
  
“You’re okay, Corporal,” he reassured Dean as best he could. “It’ll be okay.”  
  
  
“I...seen you in my dreams. Are you an angel...?’  
  
Castiel watched him pass out again and tried not to blush under his helmet. It was awkward enough having to explain the names his ultra religious parents had bestowed up him and his brothers and sisters. Was he an angel? No, just carried the name of one (very obscure one). The electrician came to inspect Dean’s bed and managed to unhook it. The Lieutenant severed the leather straps holding him with his knife and found the keys the iron manacles in Alistar’s coat, along with more ammo, a pack of cigarettes and some poison in case he’d been captured. Another team came in to take the brothers to a transport vehicle and collect Alistair’s body. Castiel rode in the front seat pondering why Dean would be dreaming about someone he’d never even met.  
  
Dean didn’t wake up for a few hours.  
  
  
*Dean’s dream*  
  
The beach stretched out for miles around them, and the ocean for thousands more in front. Novak - no first name, just Novak - lay in the sun with only sunglasses and a pair of swim trunks, no bulky equipment or desert camo in sight. Without his helmet, his hair seemed to suck up all the light and without his fatigues, he was compact and tightly muscled and well browned.  
  
“Dean,” that voice like gravel in silk called him over once he noticed he wasn’t alone. He drew Dean down to the sand with him, rolled his hard body over him, their faces inches apart.  
  
“Dean, are you going to wake up?” Novak asked. “I can’t hold your nose shut, jerk. C’mon. Get up.”  
  
*  
  
Sam stood by his brother’s bed, arm in a sling and three fingers on the other hand braced and taped together along with lots of smaller wounds on his face and elsewhere stitched or bandaged. He joked, thought about poking Dean in the ribs right where he was most ticklish, but fatigue and worry made the bags under his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.  
  
“Dean . . .” he pleaded softly.  
  
  
  
Dean blinked. “S-Sammy? Is that you...? Where...my head...”  
  
  
Sam blinked away tears and huffed out a relieved sigh.  
  
“You’re in med bay. Dumbass. I can’t believe you went back and got your nose busted on top of everything else.”  
  
“I had to get you out bitch. Couldn’t keep you there.”  
  
Sam tried to flip him off with his “good hand” but wound up just waving his taped up fingers at his brother while he collapsed into the chair by the bed.  
  
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”  
  
“Runs in the Family.”  
  
Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Don’t I know it.”  
  
There was a knock at the open door; jet black hair and huge blue eyes poked their way in, followed by the rest of Novak, showered and wearing a fresh set of casual fatigues rather than camo - or swim trunks.  
  
“I thought I heard - oh. Good, you woke up.” He afforded himself a shy, shaky little grin.  
  
“Yeah. I’m awake now. Still sore as hell though. I had to save my brother. It was worth going through that pain. I didn’t care what it took. I had to get him back.”  
  
  
“I’ll ask the medics to increase your pain medication. How are you?” Novak asked the young airman. He shrugged in reply.  
  
“Just happy to be away from those dicks with everyone semi intact.”  
  
He and Novak shared a chuckle between them.  
  
“You’re not a Marine?” Sam observed. “I thought I knew everyone on Dean’s rig, whether I wanted to or not.” Dean had never been shy about making friends and had introduced his baby brother to his squadron the minute he graduated. (“Top of his class! Pretty damn good, even if he went Air Force for no reason, just to piss off our dad,” he remembered Dean gloating to the tiny blonde, Jo, and some of the other guys whose names he didn’t remember.)  
  
“No. They, uh, called me in from the SEALs to get you out. They told me it was a translation job but I’m always happy to bleed a little to rescue someone. Novak, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Sam.” He nodded in lieu of offering a handshake. “Sleeping Beauty here is my dick of a big brother, Dean.”  
  
“I saved you. You’re welcome by the way bitch. At least I tried when no one else would.”  
  
Sam frowned. “There was a reason for that . . . whatever. I’m just glad you’re awake.” He blew out a puff of air in frustration and winced when a shock of pain ran up from his broken wrist. “I’m going to go score me some of those pain meds. I’ll send the nurse in for your enema to get your head out of your ass later,” he teased. He turned to Novak and nodded, eyes heavy with emotion.  
  
“Thank you,” he said and quickly grabbed him up in a hug. Novak froze until Sam let go and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Quit being so stubborn and let someone else help you for once,” he called back to Dean and turned to leave with a wave.  
  
“I don’t know how to ask for help.” Dean whispered after him, waving.  
  
“Yeah, no shit,” Sam cackled from the door and left to hunt down a nurse. Novak stood in the middle of the room, hand scratching the back of his head as he tried to parse the situation.  
  
“You and your brother seem to have a good rapport. I can see why you went back for him. You’re very loyal to your loved ones,” he noted.  
  
  
“I am. Got to protect the only thing I got left.”  
  
Novak smiled softly, staring at the spotless white tile floor.  
  
“How do you feel, in spite of everything?”  
  
“Like I’ve been through hell.”  
  
“You very nearly were. I’m glad we were able to get you both out though.”  
  
“Yeah. Thank you. For getting us out of there.”  
  
“It’s my job.” Novak gave him a little smirk. Dean’s words from the holding cell came back to him - ‘Are you an angel?’ He tried to suppress his blush or at least keep it under control, so his entire face didn’t turn the colour of a raspberry.  
  
“You would have done the same. You did, for your brother.”  
  
  
“You are right. I would have.” Dean said, as he stared off into space. He was remembering the first time he was caught.  
  
  
Flashback  
  
  
  
He had been doing his daily routine check and he was making sure no one got onto the base without clearance, when he had felt something at the back of his head.  
  
“Whoever you are. You aren’t supposed to be on base.”  
  
  
  
“And you’re not supposed to be wandering off alone, handsome,” purred the short brunette in combat fatigues with a pistol pointed at the base of his skull. “It was pretty easy getting in, at least this far. You’re going to get me the rest of the way.”  
  
“Unlikely that I will do that and for the record, I wasn’t wondering off alone, I was doing my daily routine check. Apparently I missed you coming in.”  
  
“Sounds like you’re not too good at your job. Tell you what, you get me into the armoury and I might change my opinion of that. I could get you a better gig than this shitshow.”  
  
  
“Not happening anytime soon. So quit trying.”  
  
“I’ll let my boss know you rejected the easy way,” she grinned as something clicked and crackled behind him before a searing pain hit his neck and enough electricity went through his body to make him convulse violently and fall to his knees.  
  
  
“Make a sound and I kill whoever comes running,” she hissed in his ear.  
  
  
Dean can’t even speak. His body twitches violently and he slumped over. He can’t even reach his walkie talkie. He tries to grab it but he couldn’t even move he was in so much pain.  
  
She gave him a hard boot to the head, ripped away his radio and weapons and stashed them in some nearby bush. Then she stood with her gun pointed at his back and used her own radio; two new recruits in identical fatigues came from different directions and grabbed him up.  
  
“The Corporal had a little too much to drink, we’re taking him to ‘med bay,’” she reported to them in code. They nodded silently and carried most of his weight between them, sticking to the shadows and veering left towards the fence rather than right. The woman quickly followed, squeezing through a small opening in the chainlink And maneuvering around to avoid cameras and guards until they were clear of the base and could load him in the back of a stolen truck.  
  
  
  
“The boss is a lot better at this ‘patience based persuasion’ than I am,” she grunted, gun trained on Dean to put him down if he made a move. “Let’s go,” she commanded the driver. They peeled out and roared off at top speed just as an alarm sounded; they’d finally discovered Winchester’s disappearance but they wouldn’t be able to catch up. Meg cackled in the back of the truck, turning her head to admire Dean briefly.  
  
“Assholes,” she muttered.  
  
Dean felt the kick to the head and then nothing. He saw darkness and that was it. Now he was in a truck. He groaned in his sleep, moving slightly as if to get comfortable.  
  
After what seemed like hours, they pulled up to their destination and signalled their arrival; two other trucks came out to check and escort them in, then three pairs of hands grabbed Dean and roughly shoved him into a building, down halls and stairs, through examination rooms until they came to a plain stone place with only single chair and cuffs bolted to it.  
  
“Get him secured,” commanded a high, nasally voice in heavily accented English.  
  
Dean was starting to wake up. He wasn’t that unconscious anymore.  
  
“Hello, Corporal,” the voice greeted him. “Have a nice rest?”  
  
“Fuck you asshole.” Dean grumbled. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He had been taken from an American military base in a foreign country.  
  
“Charming,” the voice grunted. “At your rank, you have access codes to the armoury, yes? And can take your pick of whatever is inside?”  
  
“Like I would tell you that. I’m not stupid.”  
  
  
“I can offer you assistance. Your enemies are friends of my enemies. So we too should be friends, shouldn’t we?”  
  
“Friends don’t kidnap each other so fuck off.”  
  
A tall, gaunt man stepped forward into the room and knelt a few feet away, smirking.  
  
“You refused to hear Meg out so she took some initiative. She can be brutal in her methods but they work so I don’t complain too much,” he shrugged.  
  
“I wasn’t going to let the bitch in the armory and I’m not telling you how to get in so you can suck it.”  
  
The man tilted his head and smirked.  
  
“We shall see.”  
  
“Yeah. Sure you will. Whatever.”  
  
“Are you fond of storms, Corporal?”  
  
  
“What kind of question is that? No, not really but why do you even care?”  
  
  
He took a few steps back and motioned towards the simple door; four men walked in with huge buckets and another handed the ‘boss’ a pair of long wands. On his signal, they dumped entire gallons of freezing water over Dean’s head, completely soaking him to the bone.  
  
Dean spit water out of his mouth, coughing.  
  
“You call that a storm?”  
  
  
He struck the wands together, causing them to spark and crackle. “The first part, perhaps.” He drew close, his heavy rubber boots sloshing in the middle on the floor.  
  
“I have to be careful or I can knock your heart out of its proper rhythm. I just want to convince you to lend me a hand, or a few missiles, not induce cardiac arrest.”  
  
“You can go to hell. I’m not telling you anything.”  
  
  
Insuring his limbs were secured, the man put each wand on either side of Dean’s thigh and activated them, sending an arc of power into his body.  
  
“My name is Alistair by the way,” he offered out of the blue.  
  
He moved the wands closer to his abdomen, causing his abs to clench and convulse.  
  
Dean still held back a scream. “Still. Not. Telling. You.”  
  
He maneuvered the wands into more sensitive areas and increased the voltage.  
  
  
Dean’s body was shaking violently now.  
  
“Still not telling you..”  
  
  
“You’re stubborn, but I’m patient,” Alistair sighed as he pulled away. “Unfortunately I’m also a bit busy.” He motioned to his men to enter. One took a knife and started slicing away his clothes; the others began affixing electrodes to his exposed skin.  
  
“I hope you’re fond of the cold, Corporal. It may be summer but there’s nothing to hold the heat close to the earth and this room isn’t insulated. Please enjoy your weekend.” He moved out of the room and shut the door.  
  
“Wait. WHAT? Weekend? YOU BETTER GET ME OUT OF THIS GOD DAMN ROOM YOU SON OF A BITCH!”  
  
He didn’t see Alistair again for what seemed like forever. Sometimes the shocks came within quick succession, short, fast bursts of pain. Sometimes it felt like they were just going to let him die of boredom until the power came through every point of contact and lasted almost until he blacked out, then stopped until he was fully conscious and aware again, and started back up.  
  
Finally it was Monday. It had been Friday when he was taken, early morning too, so he had been in the chair, soaking wet, and being electrocuted until he blacked out for three days. That’s how long he had gone without food, without water.  
  
  
The door opened and a pair of rubber boots moved through the freezing water, pushing a medical cart. Warm fingers checked his pulse, opened his eyelids to examine his pupils and forced his mouth open to check his tongue.  
  
“Have a nice nap, asshole?” Meg chirped.  
  
  
Dean didn’t say anything, he was too exhausted. He liked the feeling of the warm fingers but hated the person they belonged to. At least he still had his amulet, and his dog tags. He was hungry, thirsty,and cold and probably dying of hypothermia.  
  
Meg frowned and gave him a few pats on the cheek.  
  
“Hey. You give in, we’ll just have to go back and grab someone else. Maybe they’ll hold out a little longer, or they’ll have a sense of self preservation.” When he gave no response, she growled and cursed and grabbed a syringe from the cart. She slipped the fine point of the needle below his ear and depressed the plunger, sending adrenaline into his system to perk him up.  
  
  
Dean’s eyes opened, and he’s breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.  
  
“Son of a bitch!” His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute.  
  
“What are you trying to do, kill me?”  
  
“Not yet,” Meg smirked. “You still too sleepy to talk, precious?”  
  
  
“You still think I’m going to tell you anything?”  
  
  
“I dunno. Hey, wanna know something funny? I heard your friends are looking for you.”  
  
“Of course they are looking for me.”  
  
“Do you wanna know how I know?” she grinned.  
  
“How do you know then?”  
  
“We killed four of ‘em and took the rest. There’s someone really special I want you to see before we kill him too.”  
  
  
“You killed four of my people?” He growled.  
  
  
Meg pulled out her phone and tapped out a message; a clang went off and someone outside the room yelled, the noise echoing off the walls. The room door opened and three armed guards tossed a large, squirming body into the water.  
  
“I’m gonna kill you, you sons of -“ he yelled from beneath the black hood over his head, kicking out with his long bound legs, trying to flip onto his back. “I’m gonna -“ One of the guards brought his rifle down on the side of his head and landed a boot under his ribs.  
  
“He wouldn’t stop crying for his brother, apparently demanded to be in on the rescue team, so we thought you’d like a two minute reunion before we put a bullet in his head.”  
  
  
“Sam? Sammy?! Stop struggling, it’ll only make it worse. you have to calm down. Panicking won’t help us right now.”  
  
  
Sam lifted his head and shoulders up from the ground in the direction of his voice. “Dean! You’re alive!” He struggled to right himself in spite of his chains; a guard cocked his rifle and pointed it at his forehead.  
  
  
  
“Yeah, Sammy. I’m alive. Just try to stay calm for me would you?”  
  
He stilled and grunted.  
  
“Fuck, it’s cold in here . . .” One of the guards said something to Meg in another language. She nodded and lifted her hand; all three raised their rifles. Sam immediately curled into a tight defensive position to make himself as small as much as his huge body and restraints would allow.  
  
“NO! Don’t touch my brother!” Dean shouted.  
  
“Don’t hurt him!”  
  
Meg kept her hand raised and arched her eyebrow.  
  
"I'm not charity, Deano. What are you going to give me in return for your brother still breathing?"  
  
  
Dean made eye contact with his brother, silently communicating.  
  
“Whatever you want but if you hurt him, I won’t tell you anything.”  
  
She smirked and lowered her hand.  
  
"Put him in another room and get medical down here to check him over."  
  
"Dean," Sam grunted under his hood, still trying to wiggle away from them as the guards stooped and hauled him up by the arms. He fought against them, stumbled into the water due to his ankle cuffs and swore and spat at them.  
  
"I'm going to kill every single one of you if you touch him!" he threatened. Meg rolled her eyes.  
  
"Is your whole family as mouthy and full of shit as you two?"  
  
“Sam. Remember what I said. Just stay calm. Being all freaked out won’t help.” And then he looked at Meg and just shrugged.  
  
“Mouthy part, yes. Full of shit, no, because one, we will kill you all, and two, there’s gonna be a cool explosion behind me and Sammy. Like in the movies. Don’t look back though, that’s a bad idea.”  
  
Sam let them haul him off, resolved to get them out the first chance he got. Meg stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head.  
  
"There. The big baby's fine. Are you going to give us what we want or do I need to start extracting teeth?"  
  
  
“You think you’re going to get me to talk on an empty stomach. You can think again. Plus what makes you think I have the authority to go into the armory? I’m not that high up, you know. What do you even want to know anyway? Why do you need to get into the armory?”  
  
  
"For fuck's sake," she muttered and stalked out of the room for the supply cart, slamming and locking the door behind her. After some time - minutes, hours, there was no way for him to know - she came back with a plastic tray of some gloopy grey mess.  
  
"If you bitch about it, I'm going to play dentist," she grumbled.  
  
  
“I live on an marine base you whiny bitch. I eat this stuff every day. Now the question is, how the hell am I supposed to eat it if my hands are cuffed to the damn chair? Whatever, I’ll find a way.” Eventually he figures out how to eat the “food.” And then he’s done. He ate every last bite.  
  
“You starved me for three days. If it’s something I can eat, I will eat it.” He tries to get the tray off of him.  
  
He decided he would give them fake Information, and hope they don’t figure it out.  
  
"Be thankful," Meg told him. "Usually we wait five days." She tossed a bottle of water in his lap and leaned against the far wall of the room, waiting for him to finish.  
  
  
Dean opened the water. He drinks some of it, feeling refreshed.  
  
“I’m just thankful to be alive.”  
  
"If you and your brother want to keep living, it's probably a good idea not to piss me off."  
  
“That threat goes both ways just saying.” He finishes the bottle, and blinks, his vision blurring.  
  
“What the hell...” He shook his head, trying to clear his head.  
  
“Ah Damn it!”  
  
"Something wrong?" She feigned concern.  
  
“I’m peachy.” He said and shook his head again. The door opened.  
  
“Dean?” called a voice. It didn’t belong to Meg, or the man at the door. A pair of invisible hands took hold of Dean’s shoulders and shook him until he was somewhere else entirely. Worried blue eyes checked him over while those strong, calloused hands drew a soothing line down his cheek and jaw, surprisingly gentle.  
  
“Dean?” Novak said his name again, stronger, louder this time.  
  
  
Dean blinked, and he looked around, frightened.  
  
“W-where am I? How did I get here?” He was having memory relapse.  
  
  
“We rescued you and Sam and brought you back to base, remember? We were talking and you . . . went into a flashback, I think.” Realising that perhaps his touch was jarring or unwanted, Novak backed away to give Dean space to get his bearings.  
  
“How long was I spaced out for? Why did you let go?”  
  
“A while. I tried to snap you out of it but . . . I didn’t want to freak you out.”  
  
  
“Oh. A while? Sorry. I just um...I was just remembering...”  
  
It seemed silly to ask if he was okay. Novak worried on his lip a bit.  
  
“I’m glad we found you and Sam before they could do anything worse.”  
  
“Y-Yeah. Me too.” He swallowed hard. It was so cold. So loud, so...so bright. He was hungry.  
  
“Can we go eat? I’m starving...”  
  
“Of course. I could have them bring you some soup or a sandwich.”  
  
“Yeah. That’d would be nice but I would really like it if I could eat in the mess hall with everyone. I don’t want to be alone, not that...not that you aren’t good company.”  
  
“Yeah. We can try to catch up with him. Would you help me up please?”  
  
The lieutenant crossed to the bed again and gently guided Dean to his feet, slotting his arm against his lower back and holding onto his bicep to offer him support in case he needed it.  
  
  
“What is your first name Lieutenant? You know mine, so can I know yours?” Dean asked, as he was helped out of bed.  
  
“Uh . . .” Novak had his own small flashback, to the moment they met, and Dean’s question.  
  
‘Are you an angel?’  
  
“It’s, um, somewhat odd . . . Cas. Castiel.”  
  
“Can I call you Cas? Castiel sounds like a handful.”  
  
  
“Most people do.” Castiel led him out the door and down the hall to the elevator, stopping to check for the man who easily dwarfed just about everyone else on the base.  
  
“So, are you older? Sam doesn’t seem like he’s been out of high school long.”  
  
“Yeah. I’m older by four years. Been taking care of Sam since...since she died.” He swallows again and stops talking for a moment.  
  
Castiel guessed ‘she’ might be their mother but didn’t press it, seeing Dean’s reaction.  
  
“You’re both in the military?” He chuckled. “So is most of my family.”  
  
“Yeah. It goes back a few generations.” Dean said, as they made their way to the mess hall. He had been cleared by the Bay Nurse to leave anyway.  
  
“Really? I think I had a great uncle or something fight for the union alongside Washington. Sorry, I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to military history.” His cheeks coloured and he let Dean go as they entered the mess to save him the indignity of being clutched.  
  
Dean laughed. “It’s fine Cas. My brother is a nerd too.” He said as they went to sit down.  
  
“I’m so hungry. It’s a good thing I wasn’t wearing a gown with no back.”  
  
The lieutenant tried to ignore that comment.  
  
“I’ll, um. Be right back. I’ll get you protein for strength and something to promote recovery. And water.” He patted Dean’s shoulder and went to stand in line with a pair of trays.  
  
  
“Thanks Cas!” Dean called over his shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment and he could hear Alastair’s voice in his head.  
  
‘I will find you boy and I will tear you apart. I will pick my teeth with your bones, and make your baby brother watch as I slit his throat.’  
  
Dean opened his eyes. “No...!” He said, startling the others. He fell out of the chair, and onto the floor.  
  
He curled into a fetal position, trying to make himself small. He felt so weak. He’s a marine for crying out loud!  
  
  
“Corporal, you okay?” asked one of the privates further down his table.  
  
“He’s having a fucking seizure, of course not!” chastised another new Marine beside him.  
  
“Dean?” called out a voice again. Not the same one, not Cas’s. A little higher, a little further away.  
  
“Dean?” Sam asked again, crouching beside his brother. “You need to get back to bed.”  
  
  
“S-Sammy.” He strained. “He’s gonna come back. He’s gonna hurt you.” His whole body is twitching uncontrollably.  
  
“I’m so hungry...” and then he goes limp.  
  
  
“Fuck! Shit,” the younger Winchester muttered. “I can’t - Dean -“  
  
“Dean?” came Cas’s voice finally. He walked back to the table with a pair of entrees plus extra to compensate for  
Dean’s deficiencies, stopped, set the trays down and crouched on his other side.  
  
“It’s . . . let’s go find somewhere quieter?” he threaded his arms under Dean’s again and gently got him to his shaky feet, trying to avoid being hit by a random limb “Come on. Let’s go back,” he said, his voice softer, almost nurturing. “Sam, could you -“  
  
“Yeah.” He lifted Dean’s tray with his good hand and brought his cast underneath it for stability. “He needs something in him, we’ll deal with everything else after.”  
  
  
Dean clung to Castiel like a cat clinging to a tree. His legs nearly buckled underneath him.  
  
“Cas...” He slurred.  
  
“I’m here,” he reassured and gave his harm a squeeze, leading their little group out of the mess and back to the infirmary. “You can eat when we get you back to relative seclusion. I hope you like tomatoes and chicken, it seems to be parmigiana day.”  
  
“I’m so cold...and wet...water dumped on me...”  
  
“I’ll get you an extra blanket but you’re dry, I promise.”  
  
  
Dean shivered. “Could you tell them to stop staring or I’ll make them run laps at midnight? And thanks. I really need it.”  
  
Cas waves away a few of the privates loitering in the hall before they arrived back at the med bay. He led Dean to his bed, grabbed some extra blankets and pillows and another pair of socks from a supply closet and shut the door behind him when he returned.  
  
“Sam will bring your food here so you can finish eating. The only ones who are going to be watching you are him and me, and perhaps the nurse or the doctor. Is that alright with you?” he asked, draping the blankets over Dean with a precise but tiny flourish.  
  
“Yeah Cas. That sounds good to me. I...I don’t know what happened. My mind is fuzzy.”  
  
“It’s okay. You’re hungry and dealing with what happened. I understand.” Unconsciously, he reached out to give Dean’s cheek a reassuring stroke accompanied by a warm smirk; when his brain caught up with him and he realised what he was doing, Cas pulled his hand away. He cleared his throat quietly and begged whichever higher power that was listening, if any, for Dean not to have noticed.  
  
“Why did you stop? I liked the feeling. It was better than the other stuff I was feeling.”  
  
Cas blushed and ducked his head to hide it. “I, um, wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with contact.” Slowly, he placed his hand on Dean’s cheek again and let his body heat bleed into the other man.  
  
“You are warm. It’s cold. I like it.”  
  
“Do you . . . need another blanket?” he asked, concerned.  
  
“I just need you.”  
  
“Um . . .” The red in his face was definitely visible now. Dean was attractive, but vulnerable and highly traumatised. Cas didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
“I’m right here.” He cleared his throat again. “What do you need?”  
  
“Don’t leave. Just, don’t leave.”  
  
“I won’t.” Cas pulled a nearby chair as close as he could and sat down, taking Dean’s hand in his own to keep him grounded in the present.  
  
“Is there anything you find soothing to talk about, to distract you? What sort of music do you listen to?”  
  
“Any AC/DC? Led Zeppelin or Bon Jovi. Those are the classics.”  
  
  
Cas chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been known to enjoy arena rock and hair metal along with my prog rock.”  
  
“Yeah. They’re awesome. I also like pie.”  
  
Cas chuckled. “For a minute  
I thought that was a band. Do you bake much?”  
  
“Yeah. I bake for the base all the time. Love me some pie.”  
  
  
Cas beamed, showing off his teeth. “I’ll have to try some before I go back.”  
  
“Yes. They taste like heaven.” The door to his room opened. The med bay was like the bases own hospital. It was the doctor.  
  
“How are you dealing with being back, Corporal?” he asked jovially, grabbing his pen to make notes of what Dean reported. He seemed not to notice, or ignored, Cas and Dean’s clasped hands.  
  
“He, um . . . there was an incident in the mess hall,” Castiel told him, unsure whether he should even be speaking. Or in the room. But Dean wanted him there so as long as they didn’t kick him out, the lieutenant stayed in his chair.  
  
“It hasn’t been easy. And then there’s that too...” Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand out of reflex.  
  
The doctor finally looked to Cas and then back to his clipboard.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Panic attack, I’m guessing that’s what it was, and I was having a seizure. It hurt, like my chest was tight, and I couldn’t breathe.”  
  
The doctor hummed.  
  
“Have you spoken with Dr. Barnes at all? She’s the base psychiatrist. I’m going to put in an urgent referral for both you and your brother, given what you were just through.”  
  
“No. We haven’t spoken with her yet, but we need to. You know where she is?”  
  
“The Personnel Health and Wellness bunker a few down. Don’t ask me, I didn’t name it. I’ll ask her to book you in ASAP and she’ll page you when she’s ready to see you.  
  
“Can you describe this ‘seizure’ for me? Do you have a history of those, did you suffer any head trauma?”  
  
“Well. I did get kicked in the head twice. Pretty hard, actually. And it was like everything tightened up and I couldn’t breathe but I could get out a few words. I didn’t have start having them until now.”  
  
The doctor made a note.  
  
“Have you observed anything, Lieutenant?” he asked Castiel, who straightened in his chair and blinked, going back through their interactions.  
  
“He’s very anxious and doesn’t want to be left alone, but I don’t think a crowded space like the mess is the right place for him at the moment.”  
  
The doctor nodded and made another note.  
  
“Dr. Barnes will go over your history in more detail, I don’t want to overburden you too much right now. Are you experiencing any headache, dizziness, double vision?”  
  
“Well, Yeah, Because I’m hungry.”  
  
  
“Okay, I’ll get the kitchen to send something. Do you want to meet with me tomorrow and we can go over how your night went?”  
  
“Yeah. That’s a good idea. Sammy needs to get checked out too.”  
  
“All right. I’ll have someone bring you a plate and check up on you in a few hours. Any other concerns, Corporal?”  
  
  
“Just make sure Sam is okay, and oh please bring me some pie. Also make sure the privates that just stood there while I was having a panic attack and didn’t exactly try to help know they are doing laps until midnight. They didn’t all have to get up but at least they could have told Sam if he hadn’t seen me anyway.”  
  
“I will see what I can do,” the doctor said with a smile and shut the door behind him. Cas laughed softly.  
  
“You really like pie,” he observed.  
  
“I love pie. And bacon cheeseburgers.”  
  
  
“I’m glad to see your memory and your appetite haven’t been affected.” Cas gave his hand a squeeze and kept it there even when the door open and a young looking Private wandered in with two trays of food and water.  
  
“Dr. Morrison asked me to bring these and apologise. I’m not sure what for but I’m sorry for whatever I did or one of those other dicks did or that you . . . y’know, got captured.” The visibly nervous cadet set them on a wheeled table and brought them to Dean and Cas, who thanked him for the delivery.  
  
“No problemo - uh, problem. Get better, Corporal,” the private - Tran, Cas caught from his name badge, wished and saluted them.  
  
“Thanks Private. Oh and, by the way, you don’t have to run laps with the others.”  
  
  
“I’ll, uh - thank you, sir.” The short kid, he couldn’t be more than 22 or 23, obviously a fresh recruit on his first tour, fidgeted by the door. “Am I . . . dismissed?”  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Cas gave him a smile and watched him leave. “Oh, sorry, it’s not my place but I think he was about to wet himself and I didn’t want you around too much nervous energy like that.” He gave Dean a smile too and spread out their napkins and cutlery, poured their drinks and arranged so Dean could access his heaping tray of meatloaf properly.  
  
“Dismissed Private.” Dean smiled at the boy, watching him leave.  
  
“It’s Alright Cas. Thanks for thinking of me.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” he offered. He stopped halfway through cutting up his own entree to wonder why he was taking so much care with Dean, above and beyond what he would usually politely offer. He took a sharp, deep breath when he realised why; he choked on it, grabbed his water and tipped a mouthful down his throat to blame it on that rather than letting Dean think things were getting a bit middle school in Cas’s head.  
  
“Lieutenant. Are you alright?”  
  
He coughed again into his sleeve, avoiding looking at Dean for too long. “Y-yes. Sorry. Wrong pipe.” Eventually his fit subsided and he sat back to stare at his slice of meat-ish loaf-thing.  
  
“So,” he tried to start again casually like he hadn’t just made a complete idiot of himself. “You and your brother are close,” he said lamely.  
  
“Yep. We are close. Some might say that we are codependent on each other. I don’t know why they’d think that.” Dean shrugged.  
  
“People are odd,” Cas noted wryly.  
  
“Yeah. They are.” Dean said, as he took a bite of his food.  
  
After a while, Dean had finished eating, and he was exhausted. He set his tray on the cart, and laid back down. He closed his eyes.  
  
Cas noted his drowsy eyes and took the opportunity to relax himself. If Dean stayed asleep after an hour, he resolved to find Sam to take watch so he could have a bit of downtime himself - not that he wanted to leave Dean, but the exertion of the day was creeping up on him.  
  
Sleep took over Dean and his breathing slowed to a rhythm.  
  
  
  
*dream time*  
  
“Dean,” Cas called to him from beside the bed. “Are you awake?”  
  
Dean opened his eyes in the dream.  
  
“Cas...? Hey. I’m awake now.”  
  
“How do you feel?” He put his hand on Dean’s forehead to check his temperature.  
  
“Well. I feel a little bit better. I’m glad that I ate.”  
  
Cas smiled down at him, his hand moving to cradle Dean’s cheek and jaw.  
  
Dean smiled. “I’m glad you are here. I’m glad you are helping me. I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t find us. I’m just glad you did.”  
  
  
“Me too,” he said. His thumb traced over the line of the Marine’s stubble. “I’m glad you didn’t give up. You were so strong.”  
  
“I was afraid. Hell, I was terrified, but I thought of my team, and my brother, and I knew I couldn’t let them win.”  
  
Cas opened his mouth as if to say something else, then snapped his jaw shut and leaned in to press his lips to Dean’s.  
  
Dean leaned into the kiss, not really sure why, but he kind of liked it.  
  
Cas hummed into the kiss and deepened it.  
  
“Dean,” he sighed. “That . . .” He pulled away by inches and stared down into his face, his eyes dark and glittering.  
  
  
Dean blinks. “What is it Cas?”  
  
  
He withdrew slowly, hand trailing from Dean’s jaw to his chest before even that lifted away. Silently, he bent down and picked something up; it gleamed under the florescent lights of the med room, clanked and sloshed as he slowly upended it, spilling gallons of freezing water over Dean’s head.  
  
  
Dean spazzes. “What the hell Cas!?” He coughs and spits water out, and then he realizes where he was.  
  
“What...I’m not here. It’s not real. Not real. NOT REAL.”  
  
  
The water kept flowing from the metal bucket even when logically it should have stopped. It flooded Dean’s mouth and nose until his access to air was completely blocked and it started to trickle down his throat, into his lungs. At the same time, there was a crackling noise in his other ear - Sam stood with a pair of wands spitting arcs of energy between them. Anything that powerful would surely kill him, but Sam brought them down right on his bare chest as Cas kept pouring the water out, over the rods so it mixed with the electricity and spread over Dean’s entire body, searing his flesh from the inside out.  
  
Dean couldn’t scream. He choked on the water. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. His whole body convulsed and shook and spazzed. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t they just kill him already?  
  
Dean sat up in bed, screaming bloody murder. He wouldn’t stop. He just kept screaming, clutching the bed sheets tightly.  
  
  
Cas jolted awake in his seat, heart pounding. He reached around for a weapon before he remembered where he was, and who might be screaming. He sprung to his feet and jumped to the edge of the bed, but hesitated about laying hands on a grown, panicked man with expert combat training.  
  
"Dean! Dean, it's okay," he tried to soothe the corporal. The other man continued to thrash and scream; Castiel steeled himself for any fists that might come in his direction and climbed into the bed to wrap his arms around Dean, keeping his voice soft and even.  
  
"Shh, it's okay, Dean. It was a nightmare. It's okay. You're back on base. You're okay. You're right here. This is real."  
  
Dean’s thrashing slowed until it came to a stop. There is no doubt that the doctors heard him. Sam too. He was screaming pretty loud. He fell back asleep.  
  
Woken up suddenly by a (sadly) familiar sound, Sam made it from his bed to Dean's room in record time, calling his brother's name. He found Cas rocking him back to unconsciousness.  
  
"What the hell -?" he puffed as he tried to catch his breath.  
  
"Bad dream," Cas said quietly as he rocked Dean's unconscious form.  
  
"Fuck . . ." Sam muttered, trying to calm his thumping heart and twisted stomach. "We're definitely going to have to tell Dr. Morrison and Dr. Barnes about that. I hope it was . . . just residual trauma stuff."  
  
Cas nodded, only half listening.  
  
"Are you sleeping well?" he asked. Sam stopped to think and raised on shoulder to his cheek in a noncommittal shrug.  
  
"New surroundings. Kinda had the shit beat out of my ass, then I was dosed with major sedatives and manipulated. It's not like I could tell them what they wanted though. Even if I could, wouldn't have." Sam laughed and gave a little crooked half smile. "We're stubborn assholes like that." Cas smiled back, adrenaline wearing off, reminding him that he'd only had so many hours of sleep after a hard mission.  
  
"I may have noticed something like that," he answered sarcastically, eyes drooping.  
  
"Hey, why don't I take over? You've gone over and above enough, and I don't know if I can sleep again after . . . that,"  
  
"It's okay -"  
  
"Cas - Castiel. Sorry. Lieutenant. Um, sir? I've dealt with my brother's weird brain before, and you're obviously about to crash any moment anyway. Go take my bunk."  
  
"But -" Cas protested.  
  
"Sir, permission to be blunt and risk being punished for it? Get the hell out of here."  
  
Cas looked up at him with weary eyes, rocking Dean slowly to a halt, and lay him down as he crawled out of the bed.  
  
"Permission granted, but don't make it a habit," he shot back. "Good night, Sam . . . please look after him."  
  
Sam laughed.  
  
"After all the years he's wasted looking after me? He's due for a little reciprocity."  
  
Cas clapped his hand on Sam's broad shoulder and drew him in for a hug.  
  
"You're good man," he said. "Goodnight, Sam."  
  
"Night, Cas - Lieutenant."  
  
"Cas is fine," he chuckled and nodded to Sam, checked on Dean a final time, and blearily stumbled down the hall to swap places with the younger Winchester.  
  
Dean didn’t notice him leave. He didn’t even hear Sam come in. The shock of the nightmare must have wore him out.  
  
“S-Sammy...please don’t...please don’t shock me. Can’t breathe...Cas...please...don’t hurt me...” he started gagging like he was choking on water.  
  
Cas sat dozing, at Dean’s request, in the bedside chair - concern for Dean’s personal space and professional ordinance kept him from curling around Dean’s back to try and put a physical, if not literal, barrier between the corporal and his flashbacks. Cas snorted through his nose; behind his eyelids, deep in his dream, they were driving by the Pacific with the top down, the salty wind ruffling their hair for hours. His brain had first pictured them in a military Jeep, on patrol or a mission; at some point their vehicle had changed to a sleek black convertible and they were travelling to another city - for an event, or to go to the beach, Cas didn’t quite know. For some reason, he decided Dean was the one driving in both scenarios. He beamed behind his sunglasses either way, the sun setting his hair aflame with golds and pinks, the silhouette of his jaw cutting a strong angle against the deepening blue of the ocean across the highway from them.  
  
He swallowed in his sleep. Very dangerous thinking, he chided himself. Inappropriate. Extremely ill advised.  
  
Then Dean cranked whatever taped live Metallica concert he’d brought to pump into the stereo (when did cars last have tape decks?) and belted the entire chorus to Enter Sandman before Cas dissolved into a fit of giggles at Dean’s car karaoke and ohhh boy.  
  
Dean woke up, opening his eyes, but not moving from the position he was in just as one of the doctors walked in.  
  
“Good morning, Corporal,” Dr. Barnes greeted him with a warm smile and dimples, her eyes tracking briefly to Castiel’s slumped form and back to Dean.  
  
“I heard you were having some problems last night,” she noted. “A lot of us heard it actually. Would you be interested in having a session with me after breakfast?”  
  
Dean rolled over. “Morning Doc. Yeah. That would be a good idea. I’m sure Sam would make me if I had said no.” He clears his throat.  
  
“E-Everyone heard...me?”  
  
Dr. Barnes gave him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.  
  
“Night terrors happen. They’re normal, even common. Unless you’re actually screaming in distress, most people just fall back asleep undisturbed,” she reassured him.  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Night terrors. They suck.”  
  
She chuckled. “I don’t dispute that. They’re something we can discuss if you want, when you’re ready.”  
  
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. After breakfast, though.“  
  
“Of course,” she nodded with a smile. Her eyes went to Castiel again.  
  
“You didn’t keep the Lieutenant up too late, did you? If you two don’t hurry to the mess, the bacon will all be gone.”  
  
“Cas wake up. The bacon is at stake.”  
  
“People are going to stare,” he muttered through the fog of unconsciousness before finally jerking awake with a grunt.  
  
“Wha-?” he blinked tired eyes against the fluorescent overheads and finally recognised Dean and the staff psychiatrist. “Uh, morning,” he greeted sheepishly.  
  
“Bacon. Cas. Bacon.”  
  
“Ba-oh. Yes.” He sat up in his chair, bent his neck from side to side and pat his stomach. “Breakfast is probably advisable.”  
  
Dr. Barnes pressed her lips together in a small laugh.  
  
  
“Enjoy your honey smoked cancer, gentlemen. I will see you at 1000 hours, Dean?”  
  
“Yeah. See you then.”  
  
Cas pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.  
  
“Did you manage to sleep . . . after?” he croaked.  
  
“Yeah. Thanks Cas. You helped a lot.”  
  
The lieutenant smiled at him through his fatigue.  
  
“I believe you were rather emphatic about getting at least some bacon?” he asked as he stood and stretched out his long limbs. A shower after would not be unwelcome.  
  
“Yes. Bacon. I would like some. Please?”  
  
“Since you asked nicely.” Cas cocked a smirk at him.  
  
“Awesome.”  
  
Castiel shuffled out of the room, still in his previous day’s clothes, and almost ran into Sam coming towards the room, his cast and sling outlined under his borrowed Marines sweatshirt awkwardly pulled over his torso to accommodate his injured arm.  
  
“Seems Dean’s very popular this morning,” Castiel joked when he saw the younger Winchester. He blinked and then laughed softly.  
  
“How is he?” Sam asked. Cas looked closer; the taller man had bags under his eyes, just as he and Dean probably did.  
  
“Hungry,” Castiel responded. Sam let out a snort.  
  
“So he’s back to normal already.”  
  
Dean waits for Castiel to come back.  
  
“I’ll be right back. I advise you get to the mess before Dean if you want any meat,” Cas told Sam and shuffled off the lav. The pilot let his smile fall, replaced by deep lines of sleep deprivation and worry, before he quickly painted over them again and walked in to greet his brother.  
  
  
“Morning, Sunshine.”  
  
“Hey Sammy.”  
  
“Hey, man.” He used the unbroken fingers on his good hand to scratch the back of his head. “You look . . . less like hammered shit than last night.”  
  
  
“Well, uh thanks Sammy. Nice to know. I don’t remember what happened, other than everyone hearing me screaming.”  
  
  
“I was . . . sorry.” He ducked his head in embarrassment. “I have no clue either. You said . . . you were back there. And they were drowning you. Then you passed out again before we got you to medical.”  
  
“It felt so real...Sam...I couldn’t escape...”  
  
Sam pushed down a tremor of fear as best he could.  
  
“Y-yeah. I . . . yeah.” He bounced from foot to foot, his eyes skirting around the room without landing back on Dean again. He stood in silence and tried not to let himself get pulled into his own memories of the place.  
  
“I’m back,” Castiel announced from the door. His hair and teeth were brushed and he had acquired a fresh casual uniform from somewhere. “Shall we get breakfast?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the mess with a tired but cheerful smile.  
  
“Sorry about that Sammy.” And then he looked up at Castiel.  
  
“Yeah. Cas, sounds good to me.”  
  
Cas led the brothers to the mess hall and helped Sam navigate a plate of eggs and sausage and a mug of black coffee with his injuries. He took a moment to check if Dean was in need of any help, then moved off to claim a recently vacated table for them.  
  
“You got some pretty good guys around here,” Sam told his brother, watching Cas set out the trays with the three sets of cutlery he’d picked up on the way.  
  
“Yeah. They’re alright. Except at times when they don’t follow orders, but other then that, they’re all good. You gotta watch out for the girls though. They kick ass. Just because they are small doesn’t mean they won’t.” He clears his throat.  
  
“Especially Jo. Charlie too. Annie, Ellen. I like to have a gender equal squadron you know? Don’t want to be seen as someone who thinks he’s better than women. I mean, guys who think that are complete dicks.”  
  
  
“Careful, some of the higher ups don’t like progressive liberal talk like that,” Sam joked and walked over to the table, taking the seat across from Cas and grabbing his coffee with his good hand. “Next thing you know, we’ll have to treat everyone with respect.”  
  
“Your lack of chauvinism is refreshing,” Castiel complimented them.  
  
“Yeah, well, you can blame my 3/4s of a Stanford education and a hardass Marine Staff Sergeant dad who didn’t ‘take any of that shit’.” Sam grinned, a little sadly, at the memories.  
  
“Dad was a womanizer. I stopped being that when I joined the military. Dad didn’t think that women could be in the military or well should. And when those cases started blowing up. Do you know what that son of a bitch said? He said, “Well, what did you expect to happen when you have men and women in the same squadron? I knocked him on his ass so fast that he didn’t even see it coming.” Dean said, and smirked a little bit.  
  
“I told him there was this thing called respect and all of the marines deserved it, especially the women.” He winced.  
  
“And That didn’t go as well I thought it would...”  
  
Sam shifted and poked at his eggs.  
  
“What about you, Cas? We barely know you.”  
  
Castiel shrugged. “I was in the midst of a Bachelors in Commerce when I got bored. Wanted to see the ocean, the world. My brothers are in various other branches of the military, like you two. It was just sort of . . . inevitable.”  
  
“Who are your brothers?”  
  
“Gabriel is currently stationed in Afghanistan, or he was last I heard. Michael is a naval officer like me, although he’s of a substantially higher rank. Ephraim is much younger than the rest of us, he’s currently applying for his pilot license. You may actually get a chance to meet or possibly even work with him, Sam. Nick . . .” He trailed off and took a long drag from his own coffee, feeling a knot in his stomach form.  
  
  
“Angel names. Is that like a family thing?”  
  
“Devout parents,” he shrugged. “My dad just goes by Chuck.”  
  
“Okay then.” Dean said and ate his bacon.  
  
“Though if you call him that in front of his men, you’ll likely end up cleaning latrines with your toothbrush.”  
  
“Military dads, huh?” Sam laughed and offered to clink his cup to Castiel’s in solidarity, which the other man indulged.  
  
“What about you, Dean?” Cas asked him. “Or rather, you and your father are Marines. Why did you choose the Air Force instead, Sam?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Dad was on the ground, figured the best place to get away was the sky.”  
  
“I was on the ground too Bitch.” Dean muttered, his mood suddenly changing.  
  
“Did you want to get away from me too?”  
  
Sam straightened at the sudden confrontational tone. “What? No. I like flying, you freak out when a plane crosses over your head. I’ve told you. I’m allowed to have my own life, you know.”  
  
  
“Your own life away from your brother. Yeah. I know. Don’t have to tell me twice.” He slams his plate down on the table and walks out of the mess hall without another word.  
  
Some of the other Marines watched them closely and whispered between themselves. Sam rolled his eyes at everything, picked at his eggs briefly before he sighed and stood up.  
  
“Sorry about that, Cas . . . we had a rough couple nights, neither of us feel like eating right now.” He gave a hard sigh and climbed away from the table to clear his tray. “Sorry, man. Thanks for . . . Looking after him.”  
  
“It’s not a problem, Sam,” Cas assured him and let the airman go off by himself to collect his thoughts. Cas eyes the half touched breakfasts in front of him, busses the trays for the mess staff to make their lives a little easier. He moves down through the halls back to the medbay and gives Dean’s door a knock.  
  
“Dean?” he calls.  
  
“Come in Cas.” Dean answered him.  
  
He turned the knob and slipped into the room, stopping halfway to Dean. “Are you . . . Do you want to talk?”  
  
Dean nods. “What...exactly do you want to talk about?”  
  
  
“Was that . . . are you okay?”  
  
“Define okay, Cas.”  
  
I’m . . . sorry, I’m a bit surprised about what just happened.”  
  
“Nothing happened. Just Sammy telling me that he’d rather be in the sky than on the ground with me where I can protect him. No big deal.”  
  
  
Cas’s eyebrows drew together.  
  
“He . . . only mentioned your father.”  
  
  
“Yeah. And being away from dad means being away from me.”  
  
  
“Surely you had to leave for training as well? I don’t. . . he wouldn’t have insisted on being part of the first team while we were searching for you if he didn’t care. He’s your brother, Dean.”  
  
“I know...it’s just that...I don’t know how to let people take care of me. Why would they? I mean nothing.” Dean said. He never had someone take care of him before. He’s always taken care of Sammy. The door opens again.  
  
  
“Dean -“ Cas says softly before he’s interrupted by Dr. Barnes entering.  
  
“Is everything okay?” she asks, looking at her watch. “I saw you storm out but I wanted to remind you that even though you’re on leave, we had an appointment. Just in case you forgot.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. I’m fine...just a little family spat.” Dean says, looking at her, and then he looks at Castiel.  
  
“What were you going to say Cas?”  
  
Cas looks between Dean and Dr. Barnes, wishing he still had a bit of privacy. He straightened his back and raised his chin up, as if issuing a challenge.  
  
“You’re not nothing,” he quickly, curtly. He nodded to Dr. Barnes and took his own leave to let them have their privacy, and plot his course back to his bunk to process the morning by himself.  
  
  
Dean watched him leave, blinking.  
  
“Okay then.” He looks at her. “So...our appointment then?”  
  
She nodded and waved at him to follow to her office and take a seat in front of the small, m weathered desk crowded with papers and files. She spent a few minutes tapping away at she keyboard of her computer before she bit the inside of her cheek and signaled the end of her preparation.  
  
“So, Corporal. Been with us a few years. You’re strong and smart, and loyal to a fault. What’s going on?”  
  
  
Dean followed her to her office, and he sat down in the chair.  
  
“You didn’t hear that I was taken off base...and tortured? And I relive it every time I close my eyes.”  
  
“Yes, that’s why we’re meeting, Dean. What just happened now in the mess?”  
  
“The first time or just earlier?”  
  
“Both, If you’d like to talk about it.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips into a thin line.  
  
“That’s what I’m here for. To talk. Need to do that. Yeah. Let’s...” He clears his throat.  
  
“Let’s talk.”  
  
She nodded. “Let’s start at the top. How often are you having these panic attacks and night terrors?”  
  
“They started after I got back. From the first time. I was getting better. Focusing on saving Sam...was making me not have them, but then they captured me again. Meg shot me through my bullet proof vest. The bullet got me in the shoulder. Ever since I got back, I’ve been reliving what happened over and over.”  
  
Dr. Barnes typed down notes. “So you keep seeing the torturers over and over, which is significantly impacting your ability to sleep and even transitions with you into waking hours as flashbacks?”  
  
  
“Yeah. I can see it even when I’m awake.”  
  
The doctor frowned. “Is this your first time experiencing trauma or flashbacks like this?”  
  
  
“As bad as this, Yeah. I was okay with the other stuff but this. This was worse.”  
  
“You’ve had flashbacks in the past? From something in your childhood?”  
  
“I still have flashbacks from the night Mom died. I watched her burn, with Sammy in my arms. I watched my mom die at four years old.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” she said softly. “Have you sought help for this?”  
  
“Dad didn’t think I needed it. Said I could “work it out.” On my own.”  
  
“That’s bullshit,” she muttered.  
  
“Yeah. So now I’m all messed up, and the teachers didn’t give me a chance. They looked at my record and didn’t give me a chance to want to learn.”  
  
“Is that why you decided to join the Marines pretty much straight out of high school?”  
  
“Yeah. I follow orders. I’m a soldier and nothing more.”  
  
Dr. Barnes levelled a glare at him.  
  
“You’re going to cut that bullshit right now, Dean. I already have to put you on leave until you heal and go through physio. I probably need to give you medication too, but you have to keep your head on straight. I’ve heard talk like that from other guys; they wind up wandering the streets after they’re discharged. Sometimes it’s a voluntary discharge, sometimes it’s not.”  
  
“Alright alright. Fine.”  
  
“Hey. I’m not trying to bust your balls okay? I’m trying to help you keep your job but you gotta work with me. Take what I give you, show up to physio, use the skills I try to sledgehammer into that head of yours.” She cracked a grin to show she was being friendly. “Got it?”  
  
“Yes Ma’am.”  
  
“What about the episode when you got back? What triggered that?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe all the loud noises and everything. It just happened.”  
  
“And last night? Has that happened before?”  
  
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”  
  
“And was what happened just now another episode or unrelated?”  
  
“It didn’t have to do with what happened.”  
  
The doctor hummed and spent a few moments scribbling notes for herself.  
  
“Okay. We’re going to have to do some screeners but I feel confident putting you on mandatory med leave while your injury heals. Then we’ll get you in physio and do another physical to reevaluate your fitness when that’s complete. In the meantime, given what you’ve been through, not even counting your past, I wouldn’t be surprised that you have PTSD. Do you drink or smoke at all? Any history of drug abuse?”  
  
“No. I don’t smoke but I do drink. Sam calls it a coping mechanism. And PTSD...I wouldn’t be surprised either. I guess. And no, no drugs. Don’t like what it does.”  
  
  
“Not even marijuana? Good. Don’t start. As for the drinking, cut it out. It’s not good for you even when your brain isn’t a bird’s nest thanks to trauma. If I put you on any medication - which I might if your symptoms continue but for now I don’t want to tax your system, you won’t be able to drink anyway.”  
  
  
“I’ll try not to drink. As hard as that will be. But if the doctor orders it, then the doctor orders it. What is Physio?”  
  
  
“Physiotherapy for your shoulder, to keep it working so scar tissue doesn’t build up and make it useless. We also have to make sure you can still perform your tasks and duties and that your heart wasn’t messed up.”  
  
“Okay.” He nods. “What else?”  
  
“And I want to see you every week for a while. I want you to keep a journal of all your episodes. Try to identify your triggers, tell me how you feel when it strikes, how you deal with it and how you get out of it. Preferably without alcohol.”  
  
  
“Okay Doc.”  
  
“When do we start?”  
  
“Whenever you’re ready and willing. Maybe let me know what’s up in a few days and maybe we can start some Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to help retrain you how to think.”  
  
“What about Sammy. He needs help too. I wasn’t the only one kidnapped.”  
  
"I'll find him and ask if he wants to speak with me; I can do some beginning work with him but eventually he'll have to return to his own regiment. I recognise right now is a delicate time for the two of you, though."  
  
  
“Yeah. It is...” Dean rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
  
“Are we done for today?”  
  
"Is there anything you'd like to talk about? I didn't want to overburden you in our first appointment."  
  
“No. Other then I’d rather not talk about my parents. Don’t want to talk about that night. Don’t want to be reminded of it.”  
  
"Okay. Do you have anything else that's off limits?"  
  
  
“Don’t ask me if I got laid yet. Because I won’t tell you.”  
  
"I wouldn't be that callous about your sex life, Dean. Probably the only time it would even come up is if it had a hand in your trauma. Does it?"  
  
“No. It doesn’t. Not exactly. I’d rather it stay that way.”  
  
"Noted. We'll try to stick mostly to recent events. I'll try to let you know if I come up with any topics I want to discuss beforehand."  
  
“Sounds good. Anything else then today? I mean, before I go?”  
  
"I'm not sure, do you have anything you'd like to bring up?"  
  
“No. Not really.”  
  
  
"Then I'll let you go, Corporal. See you in . . . three days with a record of any episodes or triggers, or anything else you want to talk about?"  
  
“Three Days. Okay Doc.”  
  
“Dismissed,” Dr. Barnes smiled at him.  
  
“Thanks.” He stands up and leaves.  
  
Castiel sat in a chair outside with an old book from the base library in his hands. He looked up when he heard the door click shut.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind, I waited for you . . . I can . . . give you time alone if you want.”  
  
“No it’s ok. I’m glad you did.”  
  
  
“I, uh,” Cas drew up close to speak into his ear, obviously having had a chance to shower and shave properly. “Managed to save you something if you’re still hungry. Don’t tell anyone.”  
  
“I won’t tell anyone Cas.” He said as he saw Bobby come up.  
  
“Mornin’, Corporal. Lieutenant,” he greeted them.  
  
“Sir,” Cas acknowledged him back.  
  
“I, uh, gotta talk to Dean alone for a bit. Got some business to take care of,” the Sergeant said. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes a little red, his frown deep set behind his beard. Castiel nodded in understanding.  
  
“I’ll probably be in the mess or my bunk if you need me,” he told Dean, saluted and peeled off to give them space.  
  
  
“Sir? What is it?”  
  
  
“Let’s go sit in my office, son.” Bobby pointed down the corridor with a jerk of his chin and guided Dean towards his door with his arms out.  
  
Dean follows. “I don’t understand Bo- I mean sergeant. What is wrong?”  
  
“Just come along, don’t start anything with Sam. C’mon.”  
  
“Sam? What...? Uh okaaaay?” Dean said, and followed.  
  
  
Sam sat in one of the chairs in front of Bobby’s desk, worrying his hands, a sign he’s been sitting keyed up for too long. Bobby closed the door behind them and motioned for Dean to sit with his brother while he went to grab a notepad and blew out a nervous breath.”  
  
“All right. Uh, before anyone says anything, I just want you both to know that I look after you’re like my own kids, and I feel personally responsible for what those bastards did to you. I’ll never live that down.”  
  
Dean sat down in one of the chairs.  
  
“We know you do, Sir.” Dean said, unsure if he should call him Bobby.  
  
“I’m sorry about everything, boys,” he told them, not looking at them directly. “Okay, this is going to be a shit cake any way you slice it. Do you want to hear it from me or the doctor?”  
  
“Y-you,” Sam said quietly with a tiny shrug. “What’s wrong? Do I need to get back to my personnel carrier?” Bobby shook his head, unable to look them both in their faces.  
  
“Okay,” he finally said quietly. “I just got off the phone with Dr. Kashi in Kansas City. It seems your dad went in last night complaining that he was dizzy had a headache . . . he actually had . . . a stroke in the waiting room.” He flinched when the words left his mouth and again when he finally had a chance to even process what he’d said.  
  
“And...is he okay?”  
  
  
Bobby’s frown deepened and his head ducked down to his chest before he was able to look up at them again.  
  
“I’m sorry, boys. There was . . . ‘Catastrophic damage’. He’s . . . they’re just waiting for him to . . .”  
  
“To what Bobby...they are waiting for him to die?” Dean bit back.  
  
“There’s not much else they can do,” bit Sam. “Catastrophic damage is . . . pretty fucking catastrophic.”  
  
“Okay, settle down,” Bobby warned him.  
  
“I’m not fucking five!” Sam erupted. “Our dad’s about to die, don’t treat us like kids!”  
  
“You’re in my HQ and I’m telling you as your superior officer to maintain control over your emotions. You’ve been through Hell but you still have that responsibility to me and everyone else around you,” Bobby told him firmly, staring him down.  
  
“Fuck this,” Sam grunted but stayed seated, possibly because Dean was blocking his exit. “Just . . . fuck!” He chewed on the thumbnail of his good hand, staring off into space as tears welled in his hazel eyes.  
  
  
Dean says nothing. He just stands and walks out, slamming the door behind him.  
  
  
Sam flinched and chewed his nail to a nub without going after his brother. Bobby slumped in his chair and put his face in his hands.  
  
Dean went outside. He then went back inside, grabbing a knife.  
  
  
  
Dean goes into his room, closing the door. He sits on the floor, thinking about just ending it all right now. He was about to do it when he heard the door open.  
  
“Dean, what the hell!” Castiel dove to his side and immediately grabbed the hand with the knife in it. With very little force, he was able to snatch the blade away and tossed it out of the room and shut the door behind him.  
  
“Dean,” Cas called his name delicately.  
  
Dean couldn’t hear anything, he just tried to grab the blade again even though it was outside.  
  
Cas grabbed his shoulders and sat him down hard on the bed, wrapping him in a hug.  
  
“Dean, stop. Please. What happened?”  
  
“Dad.” Was all he said.  
  
Castiel puzzled over his response.  
  
“Sergeant Singer seemed upset. Did you . . . speak to him?”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean muttered.  
  
Castiel wondered if it was smart to press him any further.  
  
“You seemed . . . relatively okay after you saw Dr. Barnes. W-what happened?”  
  
“My Dad isn’t going to make it.”  
  
Castiel’s heart felt like it had stopped. He squeezed his eyes closed and hugged Dean closer.  
  
“Get Dr.Barnes...”  
  
Cas did a quick check of the room for sharp objects and other tools he could use to hurt himself.  
  
“Come with me. I don’t want to leave you alone.”  
  
Dean follows. “Okay Cas.”  
  
Cas led him out to the hall, stopping to pick up and hold on to the knife to show her. They walked back to her office in silence and he knocked on the door.  
  
“Dr. Barnes? It’s Lt. Novak, I’m here with Cpl. Winchester. He really needs to talk to you again,” he called. She opened the door immediately and took a look at him; her eyes found the knife in Castiel’s hand. She waved them in and shut the door behind them.  
  
“What happened, Dean?”  
  
“My dad...he’s in the hospital. I just wanted the pain to stop.”  
  
“Thanks for coming to me instead. Do you think you’re likely to self harm if left by yourself? I can order the captain to issue you supervision or move you to the brig if you feel you’re a danger to yourself.”  
  
  
“Well. Considering I almost did...I don’t know if I would be able to not to. I need to not be alone. Sam doesn’t know, does he? He’ll think it was selfish of me to try to take my life. Leave him alone...after we lost dad. I don’t know why...I even tried. I failed my mom, I failed my dad, and now I failed my brother.”  
  
“I’ll put out the order. Would you prefer to stay in the brig? Or rather, do you need to be secluded for your own safety?”  
  
“Wherever My brother is.” He replies.  
  
“Cas, did anyone besides you see me with the knife in my hand?”  
  
“I — have no idea. I was on my way over to you when I saw you grab it.”  
  
“No one else knows then. If Sam or Bobby find out...”  
  
“Okay Dean, I want you to listen to me,” Dr. Barnes spoke quite clearly. “I am going to officially diagnose you with PTSD and put you on medication. You won’t see any disciplinary action as long as you remain in control your emotions and actions - don’t pick fights, don’t slam doors and kick things, especially don’t try to harm yourself and force me to put you in the hold for another 72 hours. I will make sure to mention that the sleep disturbances you’ve been having are part of your illness but if you lash out and I can’t vouch for you, you could be discharged.”  
  
“I understand. I won’t pick fights. I’ll try my best not to hurt myself. I want to try, and I will.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m going to start you on medication to stabilise your moods and help you sleep. You can come back tomorrow, or after dinner tonight even, if you need to talk about what happened today. Okay?”  
  
  
“Okay Doc.” He turns to Castiel. “Keep the knives away from me please...”  
  
“Of course,” Cas nodded. Dr. Barnes gave them a tiny smile.  
  
“Good, we have a plan. I’ll ask them to make you up a bed, Dean. I suggest you go and get some sleep - both of you. I’ll update the Sergeant and then you can decide what you’re going to do over the next few days. Sound good?”  
  
  
“Yes Ma’am.”  
  
  
Cas led him back to his bunk to collect some personal items.  
  
“I just wanted you to know that I don’t think you were being selfish, Dean. After everything, you just reacted. I understand.”  
  
  
“Thanks Cas. I don’t know if Sam will feel the same way.”  
  
When they opened the door, Sam’s huge frame lay spread across Dean’s bunk, wrinkled photographs in his hand even as he dozed.  
  
  
Dean froze. He looked at Castiel, his eyes screaming,  
  
‘He’s going to be upset with me. He’s going to hate me Cas.’  
  
Castiel moved beyond him and bent to lay a gentle hand on Sam’s good arm, the one clutching the photographs of a pair of children, one several years older than the other. There were more in an open book by Sam’s face. Cas could some with a dark haired man and a blonde woman; some just had the man with the children, older than they appeared in the ones with the woman.  
  
The younger brother jerked awake violently, gasping. He blinked his puffy, red rimmed eyes, trying to focus enough to see who was attacking him.  
  
“W-where were you?”  
  
  
Dean stood there. “I went back to my room.”  
  
  
“Did you go to the shrink or something?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Sammy. I did.”  
  
“He spoke to Dr. Barnes, yes,” Cas said, leaving out details for Dean’s sake. “She thinks it would be a good idea to schedule an appointment with you as well, even though this isn’t your regiment. Sam, I just wanted -“  
  
“Stop, okay? I don’t want to hear it.” Sam held up his hand and flopped back down on Dean’s bed like he had when he was a child, much smaller and more vulnerable than the cadet he was now.. “I can’t believe . . . he’s fucking gone.”  
  
“I know Sammy...I can’t believe it either.”  
  
  
“What are we going to do?” he asked softly.  
  
  
“I don’t...know. Sammy...I need to tell you something...”  
  
“Who else is dead?” he snarked.  
  
“It was almost...” He sucked in a breathe.  
  
“Me...”  
  
Sam’s head bolted up, fury in his eyes.  
  
“What! Dad has a massive stroke so you go swallow a bottle of pills -“  
  
“Sam, please stop. You’re both obviously -“  
  
“No, who the fuck are you? I mean, thanks for the rescue but maybe you should have left us there if Dean wants to die so fucking much. After that bullshit this morning about me abandoning you? Fuck you both, you fucking hypocrite!”  
  
  
“I DIDN’T SWALLOW PILLS SAM! I AM ALIVE BECAUSE OF CASTIEL. If it wasn’t for him, I would be DEAD. So shut the hell up Sam! You are NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO LOST DAD!”  
  
“You were pissed at me so you tried to kill yourself? Real fucking mature. You want to die so bad? Fine. Go be like dad - it’s all you ever wanted. Get rid of these first though. It’s not like we were ever a family.” Sam tossed the loose pictures in Dean’s face.  
  
“Sam!” Castiel chided.  
  
“Is everything okay in here?” asked a security guard from the door, just in time to see Sam take a swing at Cas’s jaw and scream out when he re-injured his broken fingers doing it.  
  
“I didn’t kill myself because I thought of you Sam! You are all I have left and I knew it was selfish! I knew it was wrong of me...” Dean said and he grabbed Sam’s hand, stopping him from hitting Castiel again.  
  
“I thought of you Sam. I thought of all the people who care about me. I didn’t do it because I was afraid.”  
  
He crumpled into a ball on the ground as two more guards joined the first to separate them all. Cas grunted and held his hand to the purple spot blooming beside his mouth but otherwise remained composed.  
  
“I’m okay,” he assured them.  
  
“Get him up, take him to the hold.”  
  
“No, it’s-“ Cas protested.  
  
“Neither of you belong here but he still assaulted a higher ranking officer,” the guard blew him off. The muscles of Cas’s bruised jaw clenched.  
  
“Touch my brother, and I will have you out of here faster than you can blink.” Dean warned the security guard.  
  
“We’re already supposed to take you down there for your own good, Winchester,” one of the guards, Henriksen, warned. “I advise you not to threaten the people assigned to keep you safe or you’ll be charged with uttering threats.”  
  
“I said. If you touch my brother. I will make you regret it.” He helped his brother up.  
  
“I’m sorry Sammy...I’m sorry Okay...I was selfish. I don’t know why I did it Sam...just don’t be mad at me...we need each other.”  
  
“Both of you, get marching,” Henriksen barked.  
  
  
“They’ve gone through a shitload of trauma and they’re dealing with a family emergency. You’re just making things worse. Get the hell out!” Cas pushed them out the door.  
  
“Sir -“ Henriksen protested.  
  
“Thank you! I’ll come get you when we’re ready!” Cas hurried them out and shut the door before they could fight back.  
  
Sam convulsed against the floor with the force of his emotions and cried until his eyes ran dry. Castiel watched them in silence, his heart breaking for the brothers.  
  
Dean sat down with his brother, rubbing his back.  
  
“I’m sorry Sammy. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never try to leave you again. I promise you.”  
  
“Why —“ was all he could choke out. “Mom . . . d-dad, you . . . w-w-why?”  
  
“I don’t know...Sammy... I’m sorry...please forgive me...please Sammy...I’m here now. I won’t leave you.”  
  
He clung to his brother even with his arm in a sling and sobbed against him.  
  
  
Dean held his brother, humming “Hey Jude.” to sooth Sam.  
  
“I promise Sam. I will never leave you.”  
  
  
“Dean . . .” Cas said softly, walking over to them. “Do you want me to . . .” He didn’t know whether to ask if he should stay or leave.  
  
“Just stay. Please. Sammy didn’t mean to hit you. He was just angry at me and he took it out on you. It’s my fault. Just let them know we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”  
  
He didn’t bother going to the door, just planted himself beside Dean at hugged the Marine close as he held his brother. Eventually Sam’s tears stopped and he disappeared again into a light sleep, utterly exhausted from the pain of his injuries and their recent ordeals.  
  
Dean fell asleep, leaning against his brother, feeling Castiel sitting beside him. The door opened again. It was Bobby.  
  
The older man cleared his throat gently a number of times before Sam’s eyes slid open again and he looked up, bumping Dean when he jumped a bit.  
  
“Didn’t mean to startle you, boys,” Bobby said delicately.  
  
Dean looked up, startled as well. “Hey...Sergeant.”  
  
“I have some news for you if you’re ready,” he mentioned. His eyes flicked to Cas, who barely shifted with the other two.  
  
“More news?”  
  
“No real updates about your dad, but I signed off on med leave for you and Sam’s superiors are getting the same done up for him. We got a couple choppers lines up to get you back to Kansas as fast as we can. Dr. Barnes is going to arrange for you both to see someone once you’re both home, to carry out her recommendations.”  
  
“You are discharging us?”  
  
“Six month med leave to heal up,” Bobby clarified.  
  
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Been wanting to see my baby. She’s been sitting the garage for too long.”  
  
“Sounds like that would be a good place to spend some time right now,” he smiled softly. “I’m gonna take the ride with you two so you won’t have to deal with everything yourselves, but I have to come back eventually.”  
  
Cas righted himself during their conversation and squinted through his fatigue at Dean.  
  
“I had no idea you had a child. You keep her in your garage??”  
  
“Cas, she’s my car.”  
  
The explanation clicked with his foggy brain.  
  
“Oh, that . . . makes sense . . .” he tried to sound like he completely understood. Sam started to laugh and then stopped.  
  
“He’s not gonna see her again,” he murmured.  
  
“See Who again Sammy?”  
  
“Dad’s not going to see his car- your car,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Hey Cas. We should take a picture before we leave for six months.” And then he turned to Sam.  
  
“We will see her. It’ll be the only thing left of him. He would want us to take care of her. Think you can help me do that?”  
  
“You . . . want me to take a picture of you?”  
  
Sam snorted. “She’s yours, Dean. Dad never let me near that thing, even after I got my flying license. But yeah. I’ll - I’ll try.”  
  
“Yeah Cas. Why not?” And then he looked at Sam again.  
  
“Sammy. I’ll let you help clean her. But you can’t drive her. You can be my shotgun rider.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
“You just want to pick the music.”  
  
Castiel’s lips curled up a bit at the corner.  
  
“Do you have a camera?”  
  
“I’ll let you two get the rest of your stuff and say your goodbyes for now. We have to hurry if we’re going to have any time to see him,” Bobby said.  
  
“My music is awesome by the way.” He grabbed a bag, and looked through it.  
  
“Bobby, would you take the picture? Come on Sammy, get in here.”  
  
Bobby obliged, trying not to laugh at the various dishevelled states of their hair and clothes. As soon as he was free, Sam climbed to his feet with a grunt and went to his makeshift bunk to pack.  
  
“You’ll be back after Christmas, idjit,” Bobby joked.  
  
“Just take the picture Bobby.” Dean said, moving closer to Castiel.  
  
“Are you going to stand there or are you going to take the picture Bobby?”  
  
“Shut up, I don’t get these newfangled . . .” he muttered and accidentally took a bunch of snaps in a row of Dean and Cas together. “There,” he grumbled.  
  
Castiel’s hand lingered on Dean’s sleeve, trying to make him feel the depths of the sorrow and empathy in Cas’s heart at their situations via osmosis.  
  
“Don’t forget Sam in the picture too.” He laughed, coughing some.   
  
  
  
“I guess it’s time to go Cas. I’ll see you in six months. Would you write me?” He asked, and pulled the Lt into a hug.  
  
“I’m going to miss you Cas. No one has ever made me feel the way that you do.” He whispered where only Castiel could hear.  
  
“Of course,” Cas nodded before he was pulled into a hug. His face flushed when Dean whispered to him, conspiratorially.  
  
“I - I, um . . . any time, Dean. I’m happy we had a chance to meet and . . . talk. I’ll miss you too.” He pulled away to give him a little lopsided grin. “I hope things go . . . well you and Sam at home.” He regretted phrasing it like that and mentally slapped himself in the head for it.  
  
Dean smiled, pulling from the hug. “I hope so too Cas. See you in six months. You can walk with us to the choppers. We better go if we want to see dad...”  
  
Castiel ignored the screaming in his head telling him to close the distance between them and collected the scattered photographs and other belongings around the room to help Dean as he decided what to pack.  
  
“Six months. And I will definitely write you, even if you don’t write me.”  
  
I’ll write you every day until I come back.”  
  
Cas bit his lip. There was . . . something there. He thought. He was just too much of a coward to do anything about it. He kicked himself for being so weak.  
  
“I hope you’ll take time to recuperate,” he joked instead. “Feel better, Dean. Sam too. I hope . . . things turn out for you.”  
  
Dean grabbed his bag, helping Castiel put the last of his belongings in it, before closing it and heaving it over his good shoulder.  
  
“I hope things turn out too. Take care Cas.” He paused.  
  
“Come on Sammy, the choppers are waiting. Are you gonna walk with Us Cas?”  
  
“I can,” he nodded and grabbed Sam’s bags for him instead of making him try to work it without much use of either of his hands.  
  
Bobby followed shortly, along with the rest of their battalion, several of whom stopped them to offer conciliatory hugs or best wishes until Bobby pushed them along. Dr. Barnes had hugs for them, and Jo finally appeared, her eyes as puffy as Sam’s had been.  
  
“Dean! Relax, okay? Or I’ll kick your ass,” she yelled over the sound of the helicopter. She pulled him into a hug, strong for her size; on impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.  
  
“I’m so sorry. Good luck,” she said into his ear.  
  
“See you guys in six months.” Dean said, hugging Jo and nearly falling over from Charlie.  
  
Meanwhile...Back on enemy base...they had heard everything. The Winchesters were going home, meaning they won’t be as protected. This made the people smile.  
  
John died before they could reach him; Bobby got the call. while they were in the air over Nevada. They were so close to getting back, getting home. Now, they were all alone in the world, Sam thought. Now they only had each other.  
  
Dean stopped talking. He hasn’t said a word since he found out. The minute they got onto the ground and off the plane, Dean ran into the bathroom. He had been clutching his brothers arm so tightly that he had left handprints on Sam’s good arm.  
  
Sam shivered, unaccustomed to the midwest cold after years away. He looked out the window of the airport at the twilight enveloping the city. When it struck him that they were just a car ride away from their empty childhood home, he had to shut his eyes and breathe deep through his nose to keep his tears from overwhelming him.  
  
Dean walked back to Sam. “Are you ready Sam?”  
  
“Yeah,” he lied. “Bobby’s probably already got our bags.”  
  
Dean swallowed. “We should help I guess?” He said, and turned, accidentally bumping into someone. It was Balthazar. He was a businessman.  
  
“Oh, uh sorry, I didn’t see you.”  
  
He covered the mic on his phone and scowled at them.  
  
“Geez, kids don’t have any fucking manners these days,” the taller man grumbled. “Try to watch where you’re going next time.”  
  
“Uh. Excuse me? I’m not a fucking kid. I’m 26.”  
  
“Then you’re old enough to know not to step on shoes that are worth more than you make in a year at Wiener Hut.”  
  
“Listen, fuckstick,” Sam shot back. “We just got back from having the shit tortured out of us so you can jerk off at work while you throw old ladies out in the snow without getting your face blown off by the people who are pissed that the professional con artists you elected are invading their country to line your pockets. My brother’s a Corporal, and our dad just fucking died and he was a Staff Sergeant. ‘Support our troops,’ am I fucking right?”  
  
“Do you NOT SEE OUR UNIFORMS YOU ASSHAT?!” Dean growled.  
  
Balthazar bumbled and flustered, walking off while Sam clomped away towards the exit, not even pausing to stop at the baggage carrel.  
  
“Sam. Hey wait up! We gotta get our bags.”  
  
“I can’t carry it myself, remember? I was tortured. Who cares.”  
  
Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and kept moving.  
  
“Boys,” Bobby waved them over from a dark grey van with a soldier in fatigues in the driver’s seat. “Ready to go home? I called your neighbours for the spare key.”  
  
“I want to see him,” Sam announced.  
  
“We’ll go first thing,” Bobby told him quietly, ducking his his head.  
  
“No, we wanted to see him as soon as we could. We weren’t here so the least we could do is be there before he goes cold.”  
  
“We want to see Dad. Can we just see him before we go home?”  
  
Bobby had convinced them to at least stop for something to eat, although Sam only ordered a Coke and Dean barely touched his fries before they went cold. They arrived at the hospital shortly after; Sam didn't even take the time to say thank you before he was out the door. The minute he was across the threshold and into the sterile white registration room though, he froze.  
  
Dean was standing next to his brother.  
  
“Sam. Come on. We have to say goodbye.”  
  
"I . . ." Sam trailed off. "I . . . Dean . . . I . . ."  
  
“Sammy, it’s Okay. We don’t have to look. He’ll be under a sheet. We won’t have to look until tomorrow...come on Sam. Just be brave for me Okay?”  
  
"A sheet . . . fuck, Dean, I have . . . how the hell am I supposed to . . ." he stammered until he was hyperventilating.  
  
“Sammy breathe. Breathe, just breathe.” Dean said, leading his brother to a chair.  
  
“Bobby.” Dean says, as he sees the old man walk in.  
  
“Take us home. I don’t think it’s good for Sam to be here.”  
  
"You boys need some sleep, c'mon," Bobby hauled Sam out of the chair.  
  
"Is everything alright?" asked the tall, brunette nurse approaching them.  
  
“We came to see our dad, but my brother isn’t taking it well. We’re gonna go home to get some sleep.”  
  
"Sure, no problem ---- Dean?" She blanched.  
  
“You know my name?”  
  
"Yeah, I . . . uh, it's Lisa. From high school?"  
  
  
“Lisa. Oh, uh hey.”  
  
  
"Yeah, uh, hey. I won't be on duty but . . . I let your dad know you were here if you want?"  
  
“Lisa...my dad is dead...he died while we were on our way here...”  
  
"Oh my God . . . I . . . I'm so sorry. I had no clue . . . I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."  
  
“It’s fine Lisa. Don’t worry about it. We’re just gonna go home and sleep this off. Maybe we can come back tomorrow. Do you want to do that Sammy? Do you want to come back tomorrow?”  
  
"I'm . . . not a kid," Sam grunted and stalked out. Bobby let out a loud sigh and Lisa fidgeted nervously.  
  
"Dean," she said quietly. "I'm . . . I gotta go. I'll see you around. I'm so . . . . sorry."  
  
  
“See ya...” Dean said, and followed his brother outside.  
  
“Can you take us home now Bobby?”  
  
"No problem," the old man agreed and threw the truck into reverse to make their way back to the white two story waiting for them, dark and empty.  
  
Dean looks up at the house. “Well We’re Home Sammy...are you going back to base Bobby? Or are you coming tomorrow...?”  
  
“I can crash on the couch if my back will let me. Seems like you boys could use a little support.”  
  
“That would be great Bobby. I don’t think we’d be able to be here alone tonight.”  
  
The three of them walked into the house. Dean found a light, and switched it on. He headed upstairs, and it didn’t take long to find his room. His dad hadn’t touched it since the brothers moved out.  
  
“Dean . . .” Sam called weakly from the stairs, hauling his duffle up on his working shoulder with a bit of strain. “Can . . . I don’t want to . . . sleep alone,” he admitted, embarrassed as hell to be in his twenties and a pilot and needing his big brother to baby him despite his protests earlier.  
  
  
“It’s alright Sammy. We used to share a room remember?” Dean said, after putting his bags on his bed, and heading downstairs, taking Sam’s from him.  
  
“Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”  
  
Sam curled up against his wall, the place he always preferred when he was young, still in the clothes he’d worn since they got on the helicopter.  
  
  
Dean didn’t change out of his clothes either. He was too tired to even take a shower.  
  
A knock on the door echoes throughout the giant, empty, silent house, waking up the residents.  
  
  
Dean grunted, groaning. He gets up, and shuffles out of bed, going downstairs. He opens the front door.  
  
“Yeah...?”  
  
A woman was at the door. Her name was Naomi.  
  
“Are you related to John Winchester?” She asked, impatient.  
  
“Yeah...I’m his oldest son. Why?”  
  
“He hasn’t paid the bills on the house for months.”  
  
“Well he won’t be able to.”  
  
  
“And why not?” She snapped.  
  
“Because He’s Dead.”  
  
“Oh well. Here.” She said, handing him a piece of paper.  
  
“An eviction notice?”  
  
“Yes. And you have two hours to be out of the house before we reclaim it.”  
  
And then she walks off.  
  
  
Bobby shuffled down the stairs as Dean closed the door.  
  
"Mornin'. You gonna get your brother up so we can eat and do what we have to, or should I?"  
  
  
  
“I...I can get him up.” Dean said, blinking, and then shut the door and went upstairs.  
  
  
  
  
  
Instead of sleeping, Sam lay on his back on his old bed, restarting the same level of some block breaker game on his phone over and over again.  
  
  
“Sammy. You want some breakfast?” He said, slowly. He didn’t know how to tell his brother.  
  
He had made the mistake of leaving the eviction notice on the table in front of Bobby.  
  
  
Sam blinked a few times and looked up finally.  
  
"What? Oh, I guess. Does dad -- do we have any bacon?"  
  
Sam pulled himself up with a grunt and dragged himself to the kitchen behind his brother, stopping when he saw Bobby frowning over a piece of paper.  
  
"Are you kidding me with this?" the Sergeant barked at Dean. "Is that who was just at the door? Some Yahoo to drop this horseshit off?"  
  
“Yeah. Some lady knocked on the door telling us we have two hours to leave before they reclaim the house..”  
  
Sam came to a stop right as he entered the kitchen.  
  
"What the fuck!" he yelled. "How? They don't just repossess the place the minute someone dies."  
  
  
“The lady said he hasn’t been paying the bills on the house for months.”  
  
Bobby read over the note again and scraped his hand down his face.  
  
"Goddamnit, John . . ."  
  
“Guess we are eating out for breakfast. Better get ready for the...” He takes a deep breath and swallows, feeling light headed all of a sudden.  
  
"Dean?" Sam eyed him, praying he didn't drop - he couldn't do anything to help his brother without re-injuring himself. Bobby looked up in time and caught his arm, led him to a rickety kitchen chair and went to pour him a glass of water.  
  
  
"I'll see what I can do about this. I have no idea what John was doing with his pension or if anyone was watching him. I haven't been back to check on him before this. I'm sorry, boys. I . . . completely failed all of you."  
  
  
Dean drank the water, slowly, trying to breathe.  
  
“S-sorry...Sammy. Bobby...” he took another drink.  
  
“And you aren’t the one that failed us.”  
  
"I'm gonna make some calls and try to get this delayed so we can at least get your stuff out. This ain't right," he sighed. "You two, go on ahead and get the paperwork signed and all that. I'll come when I can. Make sure you eat." He fussed over them like a hen, then turned and left the room to call his superiors.  
  
“Well we better get the paperwork signed Sammy.”  
  
"Yeah," Sam replied, sounding like the last of the air had been punched from his lungs. Neither of them said anything else about breakfast.  
  
“Come on. We got paperwork to sign at the hospital.”  
  
”okay Dean.” Sam nods, and follows his brother out to Baby. Dean opens the passenger side door for him and then closes it, and walks to the drivers side. He got inside and drove off to the hospital. Once there, Dean let Sam out and they went inside the building.  
  
  
  
Dean told the receptionist they were there to sign the papers. She gave him the papers and he signed them, and handed Sam the pen, who, with his good hand, hesitantly signed them.  
  
  
  
They had just given up ownership of the house. They were homeless. At least they still had Baby. Now they had to go back home and pack the few things they had. The boys went back to the house, not even bothering to eat, they just started packing what little they had into a suitcase.  
  
”We'll eat after we leave here.”  
  
Sam nods. “Bobby had gotten us more time to pack, and since we are done...we should go. We have to get to dad’s funeral.”  
  
”Yeah. Right. The funeral...”  
  
Dean grabbed both suitcases and loaded them into the trunk. They were on the road again, on their way to the cemetery.  
  
Bobby was already there, and there were others of Johns squadron.  
  
The priest said a few words. The boys were given medals for their service. John’s casket was draped in the American flag. The brothers silently watched as their father was lowered down into the ground. John was given a stand-off. Later on, the brothers left. They went to the diner, and both of them were starving.  
  
The both of them had been serving overseas on a base near Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Russia. It had been a long plane ride, since they had only taken the helicopter to the airport.  
  
  
  
The Brothers eat a late breakfast at the diner. The waitress comes over. She looks at Sam.  
  
  
  
”how may I help yo- Sam?”  
  
  
  
Sam blinked. “Do I know you?”  
  
  
  
“It’s me, Amelia.”   
  
  
  
“Oh...uh Hey.”  
  
  
  
”Can I get you two boys something?”  
  
  
  
”Bacon please.”  
  
  
  
”I’ll have some fruit please.”  
  
  
  
”Alright, I’ll be back with your orders shortly.”  
  
  
  
“Thanks.” Sam said, and looked down. They didn’t really say anything. Just as she said, Amelia came back, setting the plates down on the table in front of them.  
  
  
“Enjoy boys.” She said and left.

Back at the table, Sam and Dean had finished their breakfast, and after they paid, they left. Dean headed to the post office to get some supplies so he could write Castiel.  
  
  
  
”Guess we should go back to the house to get anything else we forgot.”  
  
  
  
Sam just nods. “Yeah...”  
  
  
  
Dean drove back to the house. Bobby was coming out.  
  
  
  
”Well boys. I tried my best to get them to reconsider but it’s already been two hours, and I have to go back to the base soon.”  
  
  
  
”thanks for trying Bobby.”  
  
  
  
“Yeah. Thanks for trying.”  
  
  
  
”I’m real sorry for everything boys.” He said and clasped them on the shoulders, one hand on Sam’s good side. A truck rolls up just as Bobby pulls them in for a hug.   
  
  
  
“See you in six months boys. Stay safe you hear me?”  
  
  
  
“Yes Sir. We will.”  
  
  
  
Bobby pulled Away and got into the truck. The brothers waved.  
  
  
“Well Sammy. It’s getting late so we better get back to Baby. Need to get blankets and pillows so we don’t freeze. We can just store our dirty clothes in the back.”  
  
Sam nods. “I’m tired anyway. We’ve been in town all day.”  
  
  
  
“Right. Let’s go.”  
  
  
  
Both brothers walked back to the car.   
  
  
  
[later that night]  
  
"Sammy," he heard his dad's gruff voice over the din of the playground. Sam groaned, rolled his eyes and flipped himself right side up to climb off the monkeybars.  
  
"Ask him if you can stay over," Brady pleaded, still upside down.  
  
"I can't," Sam told him over his shoulder, going for the backpack he'd abandoned beside the sandpit.  
  
"Why the hell not?" the smaller blond boy demanded. Sam closed his eyes, trying not to lose his temper. There was no point to him making friends. They were just going to move again in a few months when dad got shipped across the country again.  
  
"I have chores," he lied. Brady rolled his eyes.  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Sam crossed the playground as quickly as his 10-year-old legs could carry him.  
  
"Thanks for picking me up, dad," he said flatly when he reached John.  
  
"C'mon, we gotta get going." The Marine turned and walked back to the car with an abruptness that had always grated on Sam's nerves. Dean, fresh from class at the high school a few miles from his, slumped boredly in the front passenger seat of the Impala and drummed his fingers on the outside of her glossy black door. He perked up when he saw them approach and made sure the bench was pulled up enough to accommodate both his dad driving and Sam in the back.  
  
"Hey, bitch," he shot with one of his cocky grins. Sam tossed his bag across the backseat. Of course Dean could never be too accommodating.  
  
The younger brother made sure to rock the Impala on her axles as he fell hard into the car with a creak of the leather. He was still shorter than Dean, who was shorter still than their dad, but John and uncle Bobby always promised they'd bulk up when they got into the service. Dean always seemed enthusiastic to listen to their stories about trudging around in 100 degree heat, trying to maintain peace in a world on the brink of war. The second part appealed to him; the first part, not so much. He looked out the Impala's side window at the blue, cloudless sky and imagined the roar of engines and the sounds of gunfire and bombs raining all around him. Dad was probably going to be disappointed.  
  
Still, Sam kicked out that the back of the bench seat just to be a pain, which got Dean to twist around and bat at his head, which Sam ducked and moved in to land a punch to his brother's bicep, already filling out from being on the wrestling team.  
  
"Jerk!" Sam retorted. John nearly tore his door off its whining hinges and glared down at them.  
  
"Cut it out, the both of you. I hear you use that language again, I will make your asses do push ups until you're ready to collapse, then you can do a good 5 mile run to make sure it's out of your systems."  
  
"Yes, sir." The brothers surrendered and went back to their respective seats.  
  
"Good." John grunted as he climbed in, the whole car bowing almost to the road under their combined weight. As soon as he pulled his door shut again, he let out a long, weary sigh. Sam's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror; his dad's eyes reflected in it had lines and shadows under them. Never a good sign.  
  
"I, uh, guess you boys have been paying attention to the news. Or have you?"  
  
"Yes, sir," they repeated in unison. Dean was probably lying; Sam read the paper every day since the US had returned to war over a year prior, waiting for the ball (or the bombs) to drop.  
  
"Then I guess you heard - the president's gearing up to send us back to get that sumbitch Saddam once and for all." John had always been a hypocrite, swearing and smoking and drinking and spending nights with random women when he told his sons he'd better never catch them doing any of that. Dean sat up, back straight, listening. Sam knew it was coming. He pushed himself against the leather, hoping to turn into a ghost and float down through the car to the road, or out the window, where he could fly off and be free.  
  
"Which base are we going to?" Dean asked, a bit more dejected than usual. Even though he knew Dean wouldn't admit it, Sam knew he was finally enjoying school, getting pretty good marks so he could get his team to the regional championship. Sam also wasn't supposed to know he had a girlfriend, but Dean wasn't as careful as he thought he was at logging out of his email or his messenger program on the bulky shared family computer.  
  
"That's the thing, boys," John said after a few beats. "You two will be staying here. I'm headed to Virginia, and then they're putting me on a plane to Baghdad."  
  
"We're going to Iraq?" Sam almost yelled. He'd been expecting Texas again, maybe Florida. Or Kentucky.  
  
"Well . . . you weren't around the last time, Sammy. And Dean, you, uh, didn't have to worry about . . . being left with strangers." He shifted uncomfortably, as he always did when the topic of his dead wife came up.  
  
"What do you mean, 'strangers'?" Dean watched him, green eyes unblinking, focused and guarded.  
  
"Uncle Bobby's coming with but we talked to his, uh, friend, the sheriff. You get to stay here and Ms. Mills will be taking care of you boys. She lost her son a few years ago so she's a little rusty but she's a real nice lady. You be good, get your school done, clean up after yourselves, treat her with respect. Don't embarrass me or Uncle Bobby."  
  
"You're fucking off and leaving us to live with the cops?" Dean exploded. Sam felt his lungs seize. He wasn't expecting that, and Dean losing it just made things a hundred times worse. Dean should have been happy, but instead he looked like he was going to explode with anger. Angry Dean was never a pleasant Dean to live with for the hours or days it took him to calm down.  
  
"Watch your mouth!" John roared back. Dean flinched, face going from angry to nervous. Sam clenched his jaw, hand sneaking out to grasp the silver handle by his knee. He wasn't going to sit through another shouting match, especially not when this was one of the last few times his family would be together for a while, if ever again.  
  
"I got a damn duty to this country - one that puts all that food in your stomachs and clothes on your backs. And that's a hell of a lot more than what the kids got where I'm going. There's kids younger than Sam in the armies over there - that's the good ones. The bad ones, they leave you out for the wolves if you so much as breathe like you're about to give 'em attitude." It sounded like bullshit to Sam, John liked to tell stories - whether they were true or not depended on how much he'd been drinking lately.  
  
"So," John continued, "Be damn thankful I'm not hauling you over there. You get to stay here where you even have the freedom to go to school, sit around watching TV and showing up late for the free dinner I bust my ass to provide. Y'know they'd shoot you and your girlfriend if they saw you two even sitting on the same couch together, let alone carrying on like you're glued at the lips like you don't think I notice?"  
  
The car went silent. Sam felt a tremble work its way down his spine and into his arms. He had no right. No damn right. Dean scanned out the windshield, the side windows, twisted around to check the back like he was trying to find an escape route - or see if anyone was around to hear them. Finally, he sank back in the seat, drained and quiet.  
  
"Good," was all John said as he started the Impala. The engine was almost deafeningly loud in Sam's ears. He grabbed for the lap belt with shaking hands and buckled himself in, no energy to argue.  
  
"I'm doing this for you boys," the older Winchester promised them after he'd pulled away from the schoolyard and pointed the Impala in the direction of their rental unit - that they'd spend the weekend, but not for cross country this time, just across town. "I want you to be free to do whatever you want. Go to university, get married, have kids. I'm sorry I gotta leave, but I'll never abandon you. Got it?"  
  
"Yes, sir," the brothers responded weakly, together.  
  
*  
  
Sam's eyes snapped open as the dream faded. Rain pounded against the back window of the Impala, and his bad shoulder ache, his pain meds long worn off. Tears fell with a plop to the leather seat under his head, loud to him even above the storm outside. It wasn't cold but he shivered.  
  
Dean was shivering, blanket barely on him. He was having a nightmare. He was moving around a lot in his sleep.  
  
“S-Sammy...” the older Winchester brother called out, weakly.  
  
Sam pulled himself in the backseat, eyes bleary and hair rumpled. He watched Dean's fits while his brain slowly processed being awake, still stuck in the Impala, grown and lied to.  
  
"Dean?" he answered softly. He'd been cautioned from waking him too suddenly. At least he didn't have a gun handy. "Dean?" he asked again, a little louder. "Hey, I'm right here. Um." He pumped his half sleeping brain for something benign to sing, like an alarm clock.  
  
'I'd heard there was a secret chord  
that David played and it pleased the Lord  
But you don't really care for music, do you?  
Well, it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth . . .'  
  
Dean opened his eyes. “What...Huh? Sammy...” He says and starts coughing, and it was a nasty cough. It was cold and rainy outside.  
  
"Can I stop singing?"  
  
“Yeah. It’s hurting my ears.”  
  
Sam laughed and raked his hand over his face.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
“Bitch.” Dean said, and coughed again.  
  
Sam flashed back to his dream, and the lie.  
  
"Yeah," he muttered.  
  
Dean doesn’t answer, instead he coughs again, and it sounds like he’s coughing up a lung.  
  
"Do we . . . need to go find a hotel? Or the hospital?"  
  
“Drive.” Dean answers and coughs again.  
  
“Motel...”  
  
Sam moved to the front seat, pushing Dean upright and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and sputtered back at him, struggled to catch, and died. He gave it a few seconds and tried again with the same result.  
  
  
“Come on old girl. Don’t give up now.”  
  
"Did you charge the battery? Put gas in?"  
  
“Yes Sam. I did.”  
  
"Just checking," he snapped back. After closing his eyes and sending out a small prayer that he didn't have to drag Dean to the closest motel in the pouring rain, he tried the key again, pumping the gas when he had to. Finally, then engine turned over.  
  
Dean coughed some more, but sighed in relief. Dean coughs again, this time more violently, and as he lays his head down on the window, he falls asleep.  
  
"Dean?" Sam called, looking over. Seeing his brother's eyes close, he made the to drive right past the zero-star rent-by-the-hour and maneuvered the giant car into a parking spot outside the emergency room.  
  
“Sammy. It’s so cold.” He coughs again, and then he was out cold once more.  
  
"It's okay, we're - " He groaned when Dean fell into unconsciousness again; rather than complain to no one, Sam rain quickly through the rain to the building.  
  
"Hi," he addressed the registrar through a wet sheet of hair. "I know we were . . . just here, but, uh, I think my brother caught something while we were . . . gone. He's in the car; I didn't want to move him because I don't know if he's hurt and frankly, he'll try to fight me once he sees where we are."  
  
“Would you bring us to him and we will see what we can do.”  
  
"Yeah, he's just in the black Impala outside. He just kinda . . . half woke up and went back to sleep." Sam pointed outside with a toss of his chin and grunted when his shoulder protested the movement.  
  
  
“Okay. Hey nurse. We are going to need a stretcher.” The registrar said to the nurse, and it happened to be Lisa. Lisa nods and goes off to get a stretcher, and comes back just as quickly.  
  
"Not to be a douche, but can you lift 220 pounds of dead weight? I'm a little useless right now."  
  
“Yes Sam. I can carry your brother. I did it before when Well...never mind. Show me to your brother.” She said and motioned another nurse to follow her outside.  
  
He filed that away in his mental archive of Things Never To Ask Dean About and led her back to him and the Impala.  
  
"I'm sorry if he struggles, he's pretty stubborn." Sam offered her an apologetic smile. "Just wanted to go to the motel instead of telling me he was sick."  
  
“Yeah. He’s stubborn like that. Doesn’t like getting help. Becky go over there and help me grab him.” She said as she opened the door.  
  
"Righto!" The bubbly younger nurse pulled on the driver's side door. "Up an at 'em, mister," she said down to Dean's sleeping form.  
  
“Not right now Miss talking pie...I’m eating a non talking pie.”  
  
"At least he's awake!" Becky said with relief. She tried to shield her face from the rain and bent down to get an arm under him, without noticing the water dripping down onto him.  
  
  
Lisa went to help Becky get Dean onto the stretcher. Once he was one it, they closed the door.  
  
“We will take him inside now. You come wait with him Sam.”  
  
  
The airman nodded and followed them hand his brother back inside as fast as they could go in the rain.  
  
  
Dean opened his eyes, widening them. “S-Sammy. Make the water stop. Please no more. Please Sammy. Please!”  
  
"It's okay, it's okay. See? It's gone." At Becky's worried look he shrugged. "It's a thing. Be careful."  
  
“It’s...gone...? It’s gone...Sammy?” He blinked a few times.  
  
  
“It’s so cold Sam. I’m cold.”  
  
"Dean, it's . . . can you get him some towels and a blanket or something?" He looked around as they passed through triage.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
